Children of the Mages Guild
by Adrian Lenoit
Summary: Adrian Lenoit and Vaera Levalyn travel across Cyrodiil in preparation to rebuild the Kvatch branch of the Mages Guild. However, their plans will be thrown off track once they discover a plot created by two of the most fearsome groups in Tamriel.
1. The Gold Road Inn

The wind drifted over the plains, barely bending the grass with its lazy efforts. Adrian smiled, recognizing the faint scent of salt in the air. He was getting close to Anvil and would be there after perhaps another day on the road. For now, he would have to hope he came upon an inn or at least a farm house with generous proprietors. The visit to Kvatch had been brief, but uplifting. Repairs were going well and the people were in high spirits, even with the Oblivion crisis only four years behind them. The chapel and castle had been rebuilt and the houses were well underway, though some citizens were still living in makeshift shacks—half lean-to, half tent—around the work sites. The Fighters Guild also had several willing, and rather zealous, members erecting a guild hall, but the Mages Guild was a different story. The higher ranking members were spread quite thinly, what with Carahil moving up to Caranya's position, and Teekeeus replacing Irlav Jarol. After the devastation and dissent Mannimarco and his acolytes had wrought, the guild's priorities were on rebuilding its organization, before it could focus on repairing its guild halls. Furthermore, the Bruma chapter had to be rebuilt from scratch, leaving J'skar in charge with only an alchemist and one semi-competent Evoker at his call.

Kvatch, reduced to nothing but cinder and rubble, was the last of the guild's priorities. At least, it had been, until Arch Mage Serrian had sent Adrian an intriguing invitation. The Altmer, his flowery speech in sharp contrast to his usually severe air, had personally asked for his assistance.

_Surely the son of two of our most venerable members could become the new head of the lost Kvatch branch._. And how could Adrian refuse such an offer for a cause he believed in so deeply? His parents had been members of the Skingrad guild, dedicating their lives to the spread of knowledge throughout Tamriel. Their deaths in the disaster at Kvatch were highly mourned and to this day he received letters of condolence from mages all over Cyrodiil.

_I would only require one task of you..._Ah, yes, that _one_ task. Spending time in each of Cyrodiil's guild halls, ostensibly learning from each leader. It was really just Serrian's way of keeping Traven's policies alive, even though the mer had been at odds with almost every one of the late Arch-Mage's policies. He had been very fervent in his opposition to Traven's new rules and requirements, but now that he was considered a martyr for the sake of the guild—not to mention the fact that Serrian was the one to use the black soul gem against Mannimarco—the mer was reluctant to make any change in policies for fear of causing an uprising in those who were faithful to Traven's cause. Adrian believed his research in mysticism had spoken for itself time and again, but long hours were no substitute for the venerable quest for approval across Cyrodiil.

Adrian suddenly realized how low the sun had sunk. The sky was a deep purple, and the insects in the grass had begun to sing their night songs. Even along the Gold Road travel at night was dangerous, and he knew it was in his best interest to find a place to stay for the night. Out in the distance there was a building with the faint glint of torches burning around it. Perhaps it was an inn, or at least a home. He could only hope it was the former, as people in the western regions did not trust mages due to the heavy influence of the Redguards from Hammerfell. Likely as not he would be turned away by a simple farmer or his overfed wife.

_Knowing my luck, it's just as likely to be a nest of vampires or a meeting place for the Black Hand _

As he got closer to the structure he realized it was much too large to be a farmhouse, the land around it unprepared for the growth of crops. His hopes rose, but not too high. It could still be an estate, or a guard outpost—either one was almost certain to turn him away. The Watch in the West Weald were known to trust magicians only as far as they could throw them.

Laughter rolled across the plains, loud and hearty and likely fueled by bottles of ale. From the slurred words, it sounded as though the loudly conversing men were definitely drunk. One was particularly deep and bearlike, a Nord to be sure. The place could only be an inn, with a stock of good spirits to lure a Nord this far out of any city.

As Adrian approached he saw a burly Nord and two Imperials standing outside and drinking ale straight from the bottle. As he drew closer one of the Imperials spoke up.

"Hey! Hey, you!" he cried, stumbling drunkenly toward Adrian. "You, my friend! Be careful in there!" he said, putting his arm around Adrian's shoulder and drawing him in close as if to tell him a secret, but his voice was still raised to a drunken shout. Adrian grimaced softly at the man's pungent stench of cheap alcohol and body odor. "The bartender is a piece of Redguard scum! Can't even take a..." he halted for a moment to belch softly. "Can't even take a joke! All we wanted to do was talk to that little elf and he threw us right out. Didn't even give us a chance to apologize..." the Imperial said, his voice now taking on a remorseful tone.

Adrian gently removed the drunken Imperial's arm from his shoulder. The Imperial lost his balance, stumbling to the side, before tripping over a stone and falling flat on his back.

"Oh...are you all right, Relus?" the Nord asked, turning his reddened face down toward his fallen comrade.

"I'm...I'm fine. Did you fellows ever notice just how many _stars_ there are?" Relus asked, reaching his hand toward the sky and making slow pawing motions as if he wished to grab a few and better examine them.

Adrian pushed the heavy wooden door closed behind him and looked across the dimly lit room. The Imperial had been telling the truth. Behind the bar there was a balding, but handsome Redguard. The Dunmer at the counter, chainmail clad back stiff with annoyance, didn't bother looking to see who'd come in.

"Welcome to The Gold Road Inn," the bartender said cordially enough, though there was an undertone of aggresiveness. "I hope the louts outside didn't give you any trouble," he continued, glancing toward the Dunmer. "They got a little fresh with her and I had to run 'em out. If I had any advice for you it would be not to do anything stupid tonight. I've already had it up to here with the behavior of drunks and I wouldn't think twice about tossing you out by the scruff of your neck" he warned, low menace in his words.

"I won't be any trouble" Adrian answered as disarmingly as possible. "I'll just take a glass of Surilie and a room for the night–if you've got one," he said, ignoring the bartender's gruff speech. He was just relieved to be off his feet after nearly twelve straight hours of walking.

"Sure" the bartender replied, pulling a key from under the bar. He set it in front of Adrian before tending to his drink. "It's upstairs, the second door on the left" he said as he filled the glass on the bar top. "That'll be twenty-five all together—fifteen for the room, ten for the drink."

Adrian paid him and began slowly sipping his wine, fighting the urge to down it all at once and head into his room to pass out, even though that was precisely what he wanted to do. The only thing that stopped him was his relatively genteel upbringing made him believe it would be rude to do so. He briefly turned toward the young Dunmer down the bar, curious to see what the three outside could not leave alone. She was a lovely creature, surely young—at least by elf standards. She appeared to be engrossed in her book, but the tapping toe, covered in a well worn boot, and the corresponding clink as her Elven sword jostled in its sheath, belied her nervous irritation. She turned her head toward him, an annoyed look in her eyes. Adrian turned away before she could voice any offense.

He drank in silence, noting the bartender smiling and shaking his head as he put away his newly cleaned glass. Adrian finished his drink as quickly as politeness allowed, before taking his leave.

He clomped slowly up the stairs, grunting softly with each step. All the walking had done a number on his legs, particularly his calves. They felt like they'd been battered by a smith's hammer. He took one last brief glance over the polished banister, down at the scene in the bar. The Redguard had stepped out from behind the bar and was heading toward the door with club in hand, doubtless off to deal with the rabble outside the front door. The three had gotten rather loud and raucous in the last few minutes. The comely Dunmer was still immersed in her book.

The young mage kicked off his left boot before shedding his steel breastplate and dropping it heavily to the floor. He collapsed on his bed, lacking even the energy to keep his eyes open. He hadn't realized how tired he was until his head hit the pillow. The room was dark, only one dirty window allowing in the night's gloom, and while it smelled a bit musty it was dry and clean. He tugged off his belt, sword and scabbard coming off in the process, and pushed them onto the floor. He couldn't seem to push his other boot all the way off with his bare left foot and decided to forget about it for the time being.

A crash from downstairs woke Adrian before he had a chance to properly fall asleep.. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, only to fall flat on his face when he attempted to stand. He had never finished taking his boot off and it had bent under his weight. He cursed and kicked it off before rising to his bare feet. He threw the door open before remembering he had taken his sword off. Again he cursed and ran back into his room only to trip over his discarded boot, sending him to his knees. "Some hero..." he muttered, grabbing the hilt of his steel sword, pulling it from its sheath. He ran back out the door and leaped down the stairs three at a time.

"Just who do you think you are, Redguard?" the Nord bellowed, raising his axe above the wounded bartender. "Nobody threatens me! I'm Bjalk the Bear Slayer!" he proclaimed, drops of spittle flying from his mouth.

Lightning flew from Adrian's fingertips, striking Bjalk in the chest. He stumbled backwards, his ax clattering heavily to the wooden floor, and fell onto a chair. It broke upon impact, leaving Bjalk flat on his back. Adrian looked up from the fallen Nord, looking for his two friends. One was holding the Dunmer against him, a knife pressed to her throat.

But to her captor's surprise, the Dunmer didn't yield. Adrian watched her paralyzation spell sink into the drunken man. She slipped out from his frozen grasp, shoving him back to fall like a toppled statue onto the ground. He saw her ashen lips curl into a disgusted sneer before she turned her attention to the last man standing.

The other Imperial stood toward the back of the room, sword drawn, dumbstruck by what had just happened. He looked briefly back and forth at Adrian and the Dunmer, who'd stepped beside him, before dropping his sword and raising his hands in surrender. His paralyzed friend began to move sluggishly on the ground as the spell wore off.

"The two of you drag him out of here," Adrian said, lowering his hand and gesturing toward the Nord splayed out on the floor. His voice was calm, but his heart was racing like a thoroughbred horse and he was breathing hard.

"Is he…is Bjalk going to be all right?" the one in the back asked tentatively. "I mean, you didn't..."

"He'll be fine" Adrian replied as curtly as possible. The Imperials quickly hefted their enormous unconscious friend to his feet and dragged him out the door, grunting with exertion.

Adrian turned to their injured host and saw the girl was already kneeling beside him, applying a healing spell to his wound. "Why in Mara's name did they attack you?" he asked, kneeling beside the mer.

"I went outside to send those three off. They said they'd leave, but after I closed the door on them they threw it open. That's when the Nord cleaved into my shoulder." By the time he finished his story the wound had healed up quite nicely.

"Can you stand?" Adrian asked, offering a helping hand to the Redguard. The man took it, letting Adrian help pull him to his feet. He turned toward the girl, who seemed to be fine, but he decided to check anyway. "Did they hurt you?" As he asked, he got a good look at her face. She was indeed something to behold; skin as dark as the moonless night and eyes red as fine wine. Her hair was tied behind her head, fastened with an ebony skewer, but a few wisps hung over her cheeks like strands of spun onyx. He tried not to stare, while fighting his desire to tuck the wayward locks behind her pointed ear, the temptation to touch her losing to his desire to stay alive.

She shook her head slowly, the slow rise and fall of her chest making it clear that she was still attempting to calm herself. "No. They didn't hurt me. I'm all right," she said, crossing her arms in front of her. "Thank you," she added, almost whispering. She was clearly embarrassed by being caught so off guard.

The young mage simply nodded before turning back to the Redguard. "You should probably lock your door in case they come back. In the meantime, let's clean up the mess they made." Adrian stood and righted the table that had been knocked over before walking behind the bar. Their scuffle had caused a couple of bottles of wine to roll off and shatter on the floor. He moved behind the bar and began soaking up the spilled spirits with a nearby towel.

"Let me help you," the Dunmer said, joining him. She looked around for a moment before setting eyes on a broom and dustpan. Handing him the dustpan, she swept up the glass shards, the two making quick work of the mess. "Thank you," she said, making sure she was heard this time.

He turned his face up to her and nodded. "You're welcome," he replied, giving her a brief smile. "What brings you this far west?" he asked, picking the pan up and dumping its contents into the refuse barrel. "You rarely see Dunmer west of the Imperial City, and the only ones I've ever seen are merchants."

"I'm an associate of the Mage's Guild," she replied, leaning against the counter. "My name's Vaera, by the way, Vaera Levalyn. I'm on my way toward Anvil and I've already gotten my recommendation from Skingrad," she said. "I was hoping to get placed in the Bravil branch, but they're full up. It looks like I'm going to end up helping with that mess in Kvatch" she muttered, sounding more than a little annoyed.

"Then we're likely to be working together," Adrian replied. "I'm going to be in charge of that mess in Kvatch," he said, trying not to sound too offended by her insensitivity.

Vaera visibly flinched as he spoke. "I...didn't mean it that way..." she stammered, a dark blush spreading over her face.

"Don't worry about it." He brushed off the remark, rising to his feet and taking a seat on the bar. Vaera kept blushing as she hopped up to join him, and he tried to think of something, anything, to break the awkward silence.

Just then the bartender came out of the basement with a bottle of wine. "Take this as a gift" he said, setting it down. The dusty label proclaimed it a bottle of Tamika's best, the vintage declared it one of the older—and better—of the vineyard's products. "It's the least I can do. If you hadn't been here I might be dead right now."

"You don't have to do that," Adrian voiced, a bit uncomfortable with taking such a costly gift.

"Yes, I do," the Redguard replied, making it clear the matter was closed. "And I know you're not sitting on my bar," he added as he walked over to lock the front door.

Adrian and Vaera exchanged looks of embarrassment and hopped off of the bar top. "Well, if it's okay with the two of you, I'm going to go back to bed and try to get some sleep." He headed towards the stairs, pausing to bid a polite farewell. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Levalyn, and you as well..." he said, turning toward the Redguard.

"Name's Ruban," he replied, setting the keys back on their hook, "and it was more than a pleasure meeting you. I owe you my life. You're always welcome at my inn."

"I thank you for that," Adrian said graciously before turning back toward Vaera. He was having trouble deciding whether to be vexed or forgiving, and it was not a decision he was going to make right then and there. "Good night. Perhaps I'll see you in Anvil" he said, and took quickly to his room.

He walked in, dropping the sword by his bedside before lying down upon the top sheet and closing his eyes. He found he couldn't relax, though only minutes before he'd walked into this same room exhausted. The rush of adrenaline kept his nerves on the alert, but it as thought of the blushing Dunmer downstairs that prevented sleep from descending until the predawn hours. What _was_ he going to do about her?


	2. Road to Anvil

When Adrian awoke, the sky was blushing at the approach of the sun. Adrian gazed out of his dingy window, wondering if the events of the previous night were some sort of wild dream. He sighed, thinking of how long the next portion of his journey would be. It had only been a few days since he started, but it felt like much longer. The Breton rubbed his eyes wearily. If things went well and he encountered no distractions he could likely make it by nightfall, but there was a bit of wishful thinking in that plan. He did not enjoy having to travel late into the night. Creatures and bandits got bolder as it got darker. Adrian had always dreaded facing a wolf or a troll in the dark woods, and Nine forbid he meet something as formidable as an ogre or a land dreugh out in the wilderness.

The events of the previous night were a blur, but things started to come back to him as he woke up—the drunks, healing the bartender, and that Dunmer girl. It all seemed like a dream to Adrian, but the bruise on his cheek from where he had fallen over his own boot proved otherwise. The mage quickly secured his things and headed out the door. Ruban was already behind the bar, looking rejuvenated despite the incident only hours earlier. The bottle of wine he had given to Adrian still sat atop the counter.

"Good morning!" the Redguard called, lifting a hand in greeting to Adrian. The Breton returned the gesture, though nothing about his morning felt good in any way. He had slept for what must have been a grand total of ten or eleven hours, yet he still felt worn down.

"What time is it?" Adrian seated himself at the bar, still attempting to shake off the drowsiness that sleep had brought.

"Just past six . You slept an awfully long time, my friend. Want anything to eat?" Ruban gestured to the bowls of fruit and sweetbread on the top of the bar. Adrian had hardly eaten in the past few days, but there was something that kept him from getting hungry.

"No, thank you. I'm fine," he declined, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Did Vaera already leave?" Adrian inquired. He felt a little bad about shunning her the night before, and wanted to make amends.

"Left a little while ago. Didn't even say a word to me, either. Just walked right out. I guess she was eager to be on her way." Ruban shrugged, picking an apple out of a nearby clay bowl and biting into it loudly.

Adrian responded with only a nod. "I should probably be on my way as well. The faster I get all this study done the sooner I can settle back into a more comfortable lifestyle." He grabbed the bottle of Tamika and rose from his seat.

"Now, wait a minute," Ruban called from behind him. The Redguard pulled a cloth sack out from beneath the bar and tossed a few pieces of the fruit on the bar into it. He tied the neck of the bag into a knot before throwing it over to Adrian. The mage caught it with both hands, uneasy with taking this charity. "You might get hungry out there and there aren't many more inns on this road for a while."

"You don't have to..." Adrian began. He remembered the last time he tried to refuse Ruban's generosity, so he decided to thank the bartender instead of trying to give back his gift.

"It's nothing," the bartender replied as Adrian turned toward the door. "Be careful out there," he cautioned as Adrian placed his hand on the latch.

"You be careful in here, too" Adrian replied, a small smile crossing his face. He heard Ruban chuckle as he turned to step outside.

Adrian looked to the east as he walked out of The Gold Road Inn, surveying the sunrise. The majority of the sky was still a soft dusky purple, but the burning orange on the horizon was slowly spreading and would soon turn the sky a brilliant blue. It would be a serene day on the Gold Coast.

The grass behind him rustled. "I thought you'd be long gone by now." The voice was familiar. Adrian turned around quickly, startled out of his thoughts. Vaera struck am almost heroic pose astride her chestnut horse. "You went to bed rather early last night. I thought you would have left well before the sun came up".

"Yeah, well...twelve solid hours of walking will do that to you." Adrian's took on her brisk tone in reply.

"Listen, if what I said last night bothered you..." Vaera began, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry. I really am. I know the guild needs people to fill in the gaps, but it's always been my dream to work in the branch specializing in Illusion. It just sort of disappointed me to find out that I wouldn't be."

"You're an illusionist then. It explains why you paralyzed him instead of doing something a little more painful," Adrian mused, watching carefully as Vaera moved in closer.

"Painful? Well, what would you have done in my situation?" Vaera's eyebrows arched slightly.

"You could've grabbed his crotch and used a fire spell. That would have taught him something" Adrian snickered softly.

"So, that's what you would have done? Grabbed his crotch?" her mouth curved into a devious smile.

"What are you getting at?" Adrian snapped. He narrowed his eyes as he glared.

"I knew there was something odd about you, but I never would have guessed you were _that _kindof man," she teased, struggling to hold back a fit of laughter. "I guess that would explain your lack of interest in me. No wonder you went to bed so early".

"Who do you think you _are_?" Adrian demanded, clenching his fists. The young Breton's face was apple red with anger. "You...I can't..." he sputtered, unable to even think of a rebuttal.

"Relax" Vaera somehow managed to sound reassuring, while keeping from erupting with laughter. "I'm open minded. There's no room for prejudice like that in a modern world" she choked, gasping out the last few words before falling into peals of hysterical laughter.

Adrian was beside himself with rage.

_How could I have even thought of forgiving her?!_

Vaera's laughter slowly died down. She gently stroked her horses neck, shaking her head.

_I should leave him alone for a while. He looks like he's ready to pop._

They began walking together merely out of coincidence. Adrian stayed several paces behind, still seething. Vaera peeked back and shook her head slowly, pulling her reins a bit to slow her horse's pace. "Are you still angry?" she sweetened her tone a bit. "Come on, I was only playing around with you," she cajoled. Adrian remained silent, his face ever stoic. "Fine, but it's going to be a long walk to Anvil. You can talk to me or you can stare into the distance the whole way!" With that she gave her reins a shake and trotted a few paces ahead of the Breton.

"Were you born in Morrowind?"

Vaera turned her head to look over her shoulder. "What?"

"Were you born in Morrowind?" Adrian repeated, not meeting Vaera's gaze.

Vaera smiled, glad her companion had at least spoken up. "I was, but we didn't live there for very long. My father knew there would be trouble long before the problems with the Nords and the Beast people began, so he moved us to Cheydinhal. A lot of the Imperials there weren't very...receptive to Dunmer ways. To be fair, a lot of the Dunmer there didn't exactly give our kind a good name." She lowered her eyes, thinking of all the drunken brawls that broke out at Newlands Lodge. "Anyway, my father moved me and my mother to the Imperial City. It wasn't much better as far as the quality of the people, there's a lot of prejudice just beneath the surface of people there, but there were more opportunities, and we had plenty of money." Vaera's face reddened as she realized she'd been rambling. "What about you? Where were you born?"

"Skingrad," Adrian replied.

Vaera waited a few moments for him to elaborate, but he remained silent. "Tell me more?" she requested, trying to give a persuasive smile.

"I was born in Skingrad, I was raised in Skingrad, I lived in Skingrad before I began this whole trek across Cyrodiil," Adrian replied curtly. "Anything else you want to know?"

"What did you do before Serrian asked you to be head of the Kvatch branch?" Vaera queried, undaunted by Adrian's anger. She was determined to brighten his mood because she was most assuredly not going all the way to Anvil with a grumpy Breton.

"I did private studies for the guild. I specialize in mysticism," he explained. "Specifically, I studied soul gems and enchantments. I wasn't a member of the Skingrad branch, though," he sighed, finally resigning himself to Vaera's will. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"Tell me about your family," Vaera requested, glad he was finally opening up, even if he wasn't particularly happy about it.

Adrian suddenly fell silent again. Vaera saw his expression change, realizing she had struck a _very _bad nerve. "Unless, of course, you don't..."

"My grandfather was the head of the Skingrad guild for a long time. He wrote a recommendation for Traven before associates even needed approval from all the Cyrodiil halls. He made some of the most groundbreaking discoveries in the history of the guild and revolutionized destruction magic," the Breton sounded much like a young scholar, a rather bleak smile crossing his face. "He died when I was just a teenager, but he's the whole reason I decided to become a mage". His voice cracked softly as he spoke, but he cleared his throat adding, almost as an afterthought, "I have a brother, but I never see him."

Vaera nodded, deciding not to press the matter any further.

The next couple of hours went by without incident, the pair speaking very little to one another after the sharp downturn the conversation had taken. The only words that had passed between them involving something other than obligatory pleasantries was when Vaera noticed Adrian had been carrying his bottle of wine in hand since they left the inn, and allowed him to place it in her saddlebag.

"Just a moment," the Breton sounded weary.

"Something wrong?" Vaera drew on the reins to halt her steed.

"This is just getting a little heavy," he huffed, sliding off his cuirass. His brow was slick with sweat and his face red with exertion.

Vaera shook her head slowly. "You're in no condition to walk. You said yourself you walked for nearly half a day yesterday." Vaera's eyes widened.

_By Azura, I recognize that tone of voice. I sound just like my mother! _

"What alternative would you suggest? I have no horse," Adrian queried, shaking Vaera from her thoughts.

The Dunmer patted the portion of the saddle behind her. "Navali is a strong horse. Ride up here with me, I'm sure he won't complain," she offered. "Unless you'd rather _carry_ that armor the rest of the way.

Adrian looked down at the cuirass tucked under his arm. "Point taken".

The Breton's climb onto the horse was awkward to say the least. "Be careful! You'll spook him! There's no need to drop all of your weight on the poor animal!" Adrian blushed, sputtering numerous apologies to Vaera _and _Navali before they were finally able to get going.

Vaera was pleasantly surprised as Adrian settled in behind her, his chest pressing into her back for a moment before he put a little room between them. The typical male mage had two body types. There were the half starved kind who locked themselves in dark cellars for days on end, barely stopping to eat, drink or sleep. This type had a figure resembling that of prisoners in the dungeons of the Imperial City. Then, of course, you had the flabbier breed. The kind who sat with their nose buried in a book whenever they weren't filling themselves to the brim with food. Adrian, on the other hand, felt rather...solid. For a mage, at least.

"So...how much farther would you say we have?" she turned her head so she could look over her shoulder at him.

Adrian inhaled deeply as a gust of wind hit him. The air smelled mildly of the ocean. "Not too much farther. If things go our way we'll be there late this afternoon. Earlier, if we're lucky".

The Breton chewed the inside of his mouth pensively. "So, you said you lived in Morrowind when you were young? How long did you live there?"

"For about twelve years, but then we moved to Cheydinhal."

"Ah, I see, and how long did you live there?"

"About six years."

"And how long have you lived in the Imperial City?"

Vaera laughed softly and shook her head. "You're just too easy to read," she giggled.

"W-what do you mean?" Adrian's eyes widened with feigned innocence.

"If you really must know, I'm twenty-two" Vaera smiled bemusedly. "Next time just ask me, alright? People I meet are always curious about just how old I am, especially men."

Adrian contemplated sticking to his story of naïve innocence, but decided it did no good to try to put one over on Vaera.

* * *

The Fo'c'sle was nearly empty. The only light came from a few dim candles, the only sounds those of the proprietor entertaining her latest guests. In the early hours of the morning, two strangers spoke under the malevolent orange glow of the candles.

"Cheat death," one whispered, his voice a black hiss.

"Rise from the cold embrace," the other replied. It was a female voice, alluring but tinged with a frigid wretchedness.

"Lenoit is on his way?" The first questioned, his mouth curling into a voracious unseen grin.

"Indeed, he is. He'll be here before nightfall," the other replied. "You know what must be done. Do it quickly and quietly. Make it look like a botched robbery, if you can. Take care of anyone who might get in the way, then find your way back to the safehouse before dawn. We'll be headed back to Cheydinhal before the sun rises on Lenoit's corpse."

"It will be done, my sister."

"May our father's will guide your hand, brother."

Minutes later, the proprietor, Mirabelle Monet, returned. She smoothed her hair and looked around the empty bar. A chill ran up her spine, as if something dark had scurried past her when he back was turned. She spun around, but found herself alone in the dankness of her own bar. She scolded herself for being so silly. No one came into the Fo'c'sle unless they knew exactly what they wanted. Speaking of which, she still had paying customers in the back. She grabbed a nearby bottle of wine and took a few swallows before returning to her duties.


	3. Revenge

"Adrian, look!" Vaera chirped, extending an arm to point down the road. Adrian squinted, having nodded off into a sort of dreamy state over the last few hours. The Breton looked in the direction his companion directed, relief coming over his face. Anvil was in sight. Adrian nodded, his expression not belying his great discomfort.

_Finally I can get off of this damn horse!_

Vaera placed her thumb and forefinger to her lips, signaling to a man inside the fenced area of the stables outside of the gate. He ran over to unlatch the gate, allowing her to guide the horse inside. She hopped nimbly off of Navali's back, leading him over to the stables to tie him up. She gently stroked her steed's nose, placing a swift little kiss on it before looking up at Adrian. The Breton had not yet dismounted. "Are you planning on getting off of my horse today?" she quipped, the corners of her mouth lifting into an impish smile.

Adrian looked down at her, unable to help but notice how much more lovely she became when she smiled. Pity it seemed that it only happened when she got a laugh at his expense. "I'll be off...in a moment," Adrian murmured, still unsure of precisely how such things were supposed to be done. Horses always troubled him.

Vaera watched as Adrian attempted to pull his right foot out of the stirrup, all the while shaking her head with an amused grin. "Do you need—"

"No!"

"Suit yourself then," she chuckled, awaiting the inevitable.

Her wait wasn't long. A few moments later Adrian tried to swing his other leg over the horse, apparently planning to sit side-saddle then slide off. His plan failed. He succeeded only in swinging himself right out of the saddle and onto the straw covered floor with a solid thud.

"Not one word..." Adrian growled, picking himself up, swiping the straw from his shirt before making sure that he hadn't landed in anything unpleasant. Vaera stifled a burst of laughter, biting her lips to prevent the sound from escaping. The Breton rolled his eyes before turning toward the city gate. "We should get going. I need to borrow some books, and you do want to see what your task for recommendation will be before nightfall, don't you?"

"What do you think they'll ask me to do?" Vaera inquired, trotting out behind Adrian. "I mean, in Skingrad I only had to find this dusty old tome for the chapter head. I mean, I had to go to the bottom of this spooky old fort, but I didn't find anything there except a few ghosts, maybe some zombies. Nothing major, though."

"You might find this one a bit more difficult. Arch-Mage Traven used to be the chapter head of this branch. I never met him, but I did meet Carahil a few times. They say she was equally as serious about the job as Traven himself . She's at the Arcane University now, but I'd have to assume this new magistrate will be carrying on the tradition of high standards they hold." Adrian looked eagerly toward the city gate, wondering what kind of master wizard they had found to replace Carahil.

* * *

"Oh...what a head I have..." Eldja mumbled, barely able to keep her eyes on her reading. "Why? Why did I have to stay up all night _again_?" the Nord whined, trying to reason out her foolishness. "Well, never again. I'm giving up drinking here and now!" she proclaimed to no one in particular, as the entrance to the guild hall was entirely empty. Eldja clenched her eyes shut and massaged her temples, her proclamation seeming much louder to the fat head her drinking had given her. She turned her eyes back toward her book with a sigh, deciding she would try to keep her mind on her frivolous work.

The school of restoration had always been the easiest for her. With the other schools you always had a chance of blowing your own arm off or losing control of your summoned clannfear. With restoration you significantly lowered your chances of hurting someone. The worst you could do was not help them. Plus, it was especially reassuring you were in no danger of throwing a fireball in the wrong direction after a bottle of ale or seven. Eldja looked up from her reading, shifting her eyes from side to side, scanning the room as if someone might have stepped in when she wasn't looking. "Maybe...I'll have a little bit tonight. A commemoration of my sobriety before starting fresh tomorrow morning. After all, it would be a waste to let all of the ale at The Flowing Bowl go to waste," she chuckled to herself, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Now, remember to behave yourself while we're in here. My name is pretty well known in this area, so I'd appreciate it if you would try your very hardest no to make a fool of me," Adrian instructed, his hand on the latch.

"You don't need _my_ help for that type of thing," Vaera responded, rolling her eyes at him.

Adrian narrowed his eyes, growling softly at the mer's response. He pushed the door open, looking inside. A young Nord stood behind the table, her hair done up in a messy bun with long wispy strands hanging down around her face. "Hello there," Adrian greeted, leaning down a bit in an attempt to get a look at the girl's face.

"Shhh! Not so loud!" she hissed, clenching her eyes tightly and pulling her face away from her book. "By the Nine, every word is like glass shattering between my ears," she groaned, holding her head in her hands. "What is it? What do you want? I'm very busy if you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, terribly sorry. I'm Adrian Lenoit."

"So? I'm Eldja What do you want?" the Nord responded.

Adrian began to feel rather small. He could see Vaera shaking in a fit of silent laughter out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to the Nord behind the desk. "You mean you've never...oh, forget it. I'm only here to borrow a few books," he sighed, trying not to sound as crushed as he felt.

"Well, I'm not going to show you to them. They're in the library. I'm sure you can find them on your own," the girl replied. She had unfastened her hair, pulling it back into a neat bun, allowing Adrian to see her face.

"Have you...been drinking?"

"Not since I woke up," the Nord replied. "What's it to you?" she demanded. Her face was pale, but her crimson nose seemed to be the same color as Vaera's eyes, telling the tale of exactly what she had gotten up to the previous night.

Vaera had seen that face in the mirror more mornings than she cared to remember during her younger days, though her nose never turned red so much as purple. In any case, a good hangover could make you never want to drink again.

_But I've yet to meet anyone who has had only one good hangover_

"What are you smiling about?" Adrian inquired.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Vaera chuckled. "Go find your books. I can take care of myself" she shooed, gently nudging Adrian away. The Breton skulked off, muttering a few rather nasty things under his breath.

"And what do you want?" the Nord gazed intently at Vaera, brows furrowed. "Out with it now. I don't have all day you know".

"I'm here for my recommendation," Vaera answered.

"Fantastic. Right when I thought the day couldn't get any worse I have to find something for you to do. Not like I don't already have enough to take care of" she muttered, placing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "There's nothing that I can..." she stopped mid-sentence. "Actually, there is. I need you to capture someone for me".

Vaera looked puzzled. "Capture?"

"Yes, capture. You know apprehend, arrest, trap, nab, catch. However you want to put it. I need you to find a man, detain him, then bring him back here. Get it?" the Nord crossed her arms impatiently.

"I understand, but isn't this work for the city guard or the Fighters Guild?"

"No," Eldja replied plainly. "You see his father wants him brought in, but not harmed. Apparently, daddy dearest is this high and mighty wizard from Skyrim. Seems he's an old pal of the Arch-Mage." She rubbed her forehead, still attempting to calm her headache . "The boy's called Bjalk. There's reports that he's been spotted in this area. He's assumed to be holed up in a cave outside of town, but it's not confirmed."

"Bjalk?" Vaera gaped slightly, her eyes widening. "Bjalk the Bear-Slayer?"

"Bear-Slayer? No, the only name the note gives is Bjalk. Plain ordinary Bjalk. No title attached or anything like that," Eldja responded. The Nord quickly ducked under the desk, returning with a bottle of ale along with a scroll. "This scroll came with the letter from the Arcane University. It's an incredibly powerful paralysis spell. It should keep Bjalk frozen in place for the better part of two days. His father is supposed to come into town today, but he hasn't shown up yet. I suppose that's good because I had forgotten all about this little task until now," Eldja admitted, opening her bottle of ale. "The only requirement is that you don't hurt the boy in any way. You do this for me before...let's say before the sailors come in to crowd up the bar. I'll be happy to write you a recommendation this evening".

Vaera nodded, taking the scroll from the the young Nord's hand. "Consider it done," the mer replied with a wink. "I'll have him in so quickly that you'll be well into your cups by the time any sailors even step through the door".

"All the better for them. I'm ever so much more 'personable' when I've had a drink or five," she tittered, throwing the mer a wink in return, "Oh, one more thing. The letter also warns that Bjalk is basically a spoiled bastard, but he's stolen an ax from his father's estate, one that he's been trained to use. You might want to bring you little friend along with you as insurance. Tell him he can take the books for a few nights. I plan to be out of here by nightfall whether you're finished or not and you'll have to wait until morning to tell me about your recommendation. I'll be far too drunk by the time you find me tonight."

Vaera merely nodded, amazed by the Nord's bluntness.

Vaera peeked apprehensively around the corner. Adrian sat at a long table, hunched over a thick book. It would require a little coaxing to get him to help out, even if it did mean a reprisal on that jackass. Perhaps a promise not to laugh at him in public anymore, no matter how humiliating—or hilarious—the incident.

"What do you want, Vaera?" Adrian grumbled without looking up, shaking the mer out of her contemplations.

"Adrian, I need you to help me with my recommendation."

Adrian looked up at her from his work with a look that gave his answer before he actually spoke it. "Hmm...no. I don't think so. I have a lot to do and—"

"Please, let me explain. It would—"

"Vaera, when I earned my recommendations no one helped me out. These are more than simply menial tasks. They're rites of passage. You're showing the guild that you're an adult capable of doing things on your own. If you can't learn to walk on your own two feet you have no place in the guild. This isn't..."

"It would mean getting back at Bjalk the Bear-Slayer," Vaera shouted, raising her voice above Adrian's increasingly chastising speech.

Adrian immediately halted. He remained silent for a moment, finally closing his book. He folded his hands over the tome's worn cover. "You have my attention."

Tarafel smiled, able to see the water beneath the deer's mouth gently ripple as it drank from the still pond. The beautiful creature lifted its head, flicking its ears back as it looked warily around. The Bosmer admired the animal's musculature, letting her eyes trail from the doe's graceful legs up to her hornless head. "Beautiful," the Bosmer whispered, and released the bowstring. The arrow hissed through the air, catching the deer right above the eye. Tarafel rose up from her knelt position behind the fallen tree before trotting down the hill toward her fallen quarry. She knelt beside the deer, checked to make sure the creature no longer lived, then took the coil of rope out of her pack. She tied one end of the rope around her prey's slender neck, knotting it securely before looking back up the hill. She sighed, realizing that she had never wished that Ralis could be nearby more than she did at that very moment. "I guess there's no other way, though," she muttered to herself.

She found the climb back up the hill much more arduous than she would have preferred, but not as bad as she had imagined. Even so, she would have been much happier warching Ralis lug their next week's worth of food up the hill, big strong Dunmer that he was. But, Ralis had his own job to do and no way would she abide herself an overnight stay in Anvil. She hated being too close to Valenwood. In fact,she considered anything south of Chorrol to be _far_ too close to Anvil.

She dragged the deer all the way back behind the small cluster of trees where they were camped, dropping the rope next to the rest of her equipment. The Bosmer knelt down, working the knot around the deer's neck with her slender fingers until it came undone. She had already set out the tools for skinning the animal, but decided to wait a few minutes before she took on the gory job of skinning and preparing the deer. The Bosmer looked to the south, wondering how long Ralis' end would take to complete. He had told her he would be back no later than sunrise, but he had told her things like that before and been wrong. If Ralis had been doing the job himself she wouldn't have worried so much, but their only orders were to observe the Khajiit. From the brief moment she had spent with him she could already tell that he would likely fail completely. She had always frowned upon the Dark Brotherhood's methods of recruitment. Drunkenly stabbing a man to death in an alley doesn't make you an assassin, it makes you a murderer, but no one else ever seemed to realize that there's an enormous difference between the two. True, the incompetent didn't last long in the Brotherhood, but often enough they lived long enough to royally muck things up. Ralis was competent, but he didn't like bloodying his hands if it had to be discreet. He dismissed it as 'cowardly'. At least the mer wasn't as useless as the Nord she had paired up with during her time in Skyrim. Zighelm had been young, strong, and peerless in his stupidity, which had ultimately gotten him killed, but all for the best. Any idiot who could walk into traps that marauders had set would have eventually dragged her down with him. Tarafel sat up, quietly sighing as she looked down at the corpse of the deer. After a few moments she got to work on skinning the doe, occasionally looking toward the south as she labored.

Adrian listened to the details of Vaera's mission, the wheels in his head turning the whole time. Even before she finished the brief explanation Adrian had concocted a plan of action.

"All right, now obviously it's going to be too difficult to sneak up on him if he's anywhere nearby. It's too flat to effectively stalk someone on the beach or the plains," he mused, looking to Vaera for reassurance. The mer nodded in agreement. Adrian nodded in return, quickly moving on. "Now, I doubt even someone like Bjalk would attack a young woman unprovoked. He might remember your face, though."

"Yeah, but he was as drunk as I've ever seen anyone. I doubt he'd even remember what I look like." She leaned back against the bookcase as she watched Adrian pace back and forth. She smiled, thinking it looked like he was quite literally wandering through his own thoughts.

"I don't want to take the chance he'll remember. You remember what he did to Ruban, don't you?" Adrian replied. "Also, you can't carry the scroll in your hand. He might recognize what it is and attack you. You're going to need something to hide it in," he mused, scratching softly at his chin. "I actually have an idea, but I don't think you'll like it," the Breton cut his eyes briefly at Vaera, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say.

"Why not?" The mer wondered what could be so terrible.

Adrian let his eyes trail away from Vaera's face, looking rather like a child caught with his hand in the sweetroll jar. "It would require you to—" he trailed off, chewing the inside of his mouth in thought.

"It would require me to what?" She wished he would spit it out.

"It would require you to _lower_ yourself."

"How do you mean?" Vaera found herself thoroughly puzzled by her companion's words.

"You'll see," the Breton replied, unable to help letting a smile creep onto his face.

Adrian had gotten a lot of angry looks in the past, mostly from women, but the look Vaera gave him at that very moment put all past looks to shame. Her red eyes glowed with rage and he could almost feel a kind of heat coming from those crimson rings, as if she were literally trying burn through him with her gaze. She portrayed the emotion so perfectly he wished he could have summoned a painter to put the image on canvas. Her eyes narrowed, her brows knit tightly together, her jaw clenched so tightly he thought she might be in danger of cracking a tooth.

"I will never _ever _forgive you for this" she hissed through her teeth.

Adrian merely smiled, watching as Eldja made quick adjustments to the front of the dress. The ladies were close enough in size the dress fit well around the waist, but Vaera had the typical mer figure in the fact she was very lithe, lacking the curves that would have proved her femininity. Eldja, on the other hand, had described her self best.

"All of my dresses are special orders. I've learned that there's no point in buying one from a store when I'm going to have to spend all the extra gold to get the chest let out."

If Eldja had only had a slight advantage in that department there would have been little fuss over it, but such wasn't the case. The Nord offered her services when Adrian explained he needed to buy a dress for Vaera—which would have been easier, but, admittedly, much less entertaining—so Adrian decided to follow the old maxim about not buying something when one could get it for free.

The fact Eldja had been the one to point out Vaera's lack of assets in this particular area made the poor Dunmer's embarrassment all the sweeter for Adrian. He fought back laughter the entire time, nearly losing it when Eldja had to take Vaera's chest measurements all over again then take the dress in another two inches. Of course, the ladies ensured the Breton turned around if Eldja thought there was danger of him seeing something he shouldn't.

"Done!" Eldja announced, tying off the stitch before standing back to admire her handiwork. A simple burgundy garment, the dress complimented Vaera's dusky skin very nicely.

Adrian hadn't thought the whole process would be as quickly as it had been and he definitely hadn't imagined Eldja would be so skilled with a needle and thread. "Where did you learn to sew like that?" he marveled, rather amazed by the young Nord's abilities.

"Let's say I've had my share of misadventures with torn clothing and leave it that," she told him, tipping the Breton a wink before walking back into the lobby.

He decided not to press the matter any further.

Adrian turned back toward Vaera, whose eyes were glowing such a fierce red he thought the aura might burn him if he got too close.

"Oh, now what's that look for? You look...stunning," Adrian gestured over Vaera's figure with an open hand, honestly trying to give her a compliment.

"You _will_ pay for this," Vaera growled, her jaw still clenched painfully tight.

"Hey, you wanted my help so I'm helping you! You're lucky you got this much with the way you've been treating me," he shrugged, walking around her to make sure the dress fit properly. "Now, we need..." Adrian trailed off, grabbing a nearby basket, "this!" He took the scroll off of the table, placing it carefully at the bottom of the basket. He then filled the basket with fruit from the bowls on the table until they obscured the scroll. "There we go. Now, your story's going to be that you're out collecting ingredients. When he sees you make sure you make eye contact with him. If he doesn't invite you over first, then walk right over to him."

"All right, but what exactly am I supposed to say to him?" Vaera liked Adrian's plan less and less as he explained it.

"Be...be seductive. Work your charms on him. You _are_ able to do that, aren't you?" He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his mouth. He took the sneer Vaera gave him as an answer. "Very good. So, while you've got him distracted, discreetly reach into the basket and touch the scroll. It works the exact same way as a spell. It's all a matter of focus," Adrian explained, rearranging some of the fruit in the basket to make sure the scroll stayed fully concealed, but would still be accessible.

"All right, but what if you're wrong about all this? What if he sees me, recognizes me, and tries to throttle me instead of giving me enough time to charm him?"

"That's why I'm going to follow you under a cloaking spell. I'll keep an eye on him. If he tries to pull a fast one I'll be there to back you up," Adrian assured, sounding absolutely positive nothing could go wrong. "It'll be a piece of cake. All you have to do is work your feminine wiles—I _know_ you have them— then be quick enough to cast before he can realize what you're doing. Now, the sun's getting low. If we want any chance of bringing our friend Bjalk in we're going to have to get moving."

K'zir's wide calculating eyes observed the two mages through the dingy window of Morvayn's Peacemakers as they left the Anvil guild. The Khajiit dressed in huntsman's leather and a dirtied shirt to make himself look like nothing more than a simple sailor on leave.

"Quite a fine blade," Varel Morvayn marveled, stepping away from the forge with the Khajiit's newly repaired ebony dagger. "How ever did you afford this on a seaman's salary?" the blacksmith inquired, looking suspiciously at his feline customer.

"You ask far too many questions," the Khajiit growled, his snarl revealing the many needly teeth in his mouth. "Perhaps the less you know about me the longer you will live, eh?"

Morvayn's aged defiant eyes did not falter, but he handed the blade back to the Khajiit, making no further conversation outside of stating the payment. The Khajiit payed the old mer, taking his blade and stepping out into the warm orange daylight, shielding his eyes as they met the setting sun. Lenoit was bound to be in town until at least dawn, though Ralis hadn't mentioned anything about him having a Dunmer with him. Only The Count's Arms boarded landsmen, making his only other choice the guild hall. Not to mention the fact he had left without his armor.

"Still plenty of time," the Khajiit mumbled to himself, looking toward the dock gate. He had never been to Anvil before, after all. What should stop him from having a few drinks before he made his kill? He'd heard The Flowing Bowl could be a fine place to drink if you didn't mind being hassled by drunken sailors. The Khajiit drew the ebony dagger from it's sheath. The blade's edge glowed red in the low sunlight, sharpened to sinister perfection. He doubted there would be any problems.

Ralis already sat in The Flowing Bowl, enjoying a small glass of Cyrodiilic brandy. Somehow, he had let himself get the idea in his head that someone the Brotherhood sent would be competent enough to actually shadow their mark a while before killing them. He had obviously forgotten how low the Brotherhood's standards had sunk in the past few years. It wasn't surprising, though. Even the upper echelon of assassin's had gotten infiltrated by a usurper. Not to mention the fact that most of their speakers and silencers had been killed by an upstart—one who now heard the words of the Night Mother herself, no less. Their administrative body was still recovering from those crippling blows. The Dunmer sneered from his dark corner of the bar as the Khajiit sat down, ordering himself three ales to start. It wasn't surprising that the Resurrectors were hiring help outside of the Dark Brotherhood. Ralis calmed himself, tamping down his urge to take that Khajiit's idiotic feline head off. There he sat, not even taking the initiative to kill the mage while he was outside the city walls. But, it wasn't his business. No matter what the outcome, he and Tarafel would still get their pay for supervising the Khajiit. He could only hope to be gone before sunrise.

Finding Bjalk hadn't taken too long. Adrian and Vaera had left Anvil then simply followed the beach until they began to hear a strange sound.

"What's that?" Vaera crinkled her nose in disgust. "Are the mudcrabs mating this time of year?"

"That's not a mudcrab, but it _is_ a disgusting creature. Look," he pointed out to a group of boulders in the distance,"I think we've found our wayward boy".

There sat Bjalk, a bottle of mead in hand, singing his alcohol soaked heart out as he sat against the rocks. The tide sloshed up to his boots, bringing shells, seaweed, and small mudcrabs onto his ankles. Adrian could barely comprehend the words due to Bjalk's heavy slurring, but the Breton could vaguely make out something about 'seventeen sins'.

The Breton took firm hold of the mer's arm, whisking her behind a nearby tree out of Bjalk's range of vision. "Okay, let's not waste time. You know what to do, right?"

Vaera didn't answer, merely giving Adrian a look of contempt before straightening out her dress and walking toward the place that Bjalk sat. Adrian cast a weak chameleon spell, keeping step along behind his Dunmer companion, watching as she stepped into the Nord's line of sight. The Breton took no chance that he might be noticed, making sure to stay off the sand whenever possible.

Bjalk ceased his singing as he laid eyes on Vaera. The Dunmer had put on an air of meek femininity, kneeling down to collect one of the large seashells that had washed up on the beach.

"Hello there," Bjalk greeted, his voice heavy from the mead. He gave Vaera a suspicious look, furrowing his brows as he looked her over. "Haven't I...seen you somewhere before?" He tilted his head to one side like a puzzled hound.

Vaera returned his smile, attempting not to let her face bely her fear. "Me? No, I don't believe we've met," she replied, giving an awkward curtsy. She had never had to act like a formal lady before. She had also questioned Adrian on whether or not Bjalk would react to her being demure rather than forward, but he had advised she be more subtle, having predicted that as unpredictable as the Nord could be it would be unwise to get him too aroused.

"Oh, but I think we have met. I remember you. You were with that wizard at the inn on the road," he slurred, raising a bushy eyebrow at her.

Vaera felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. For a moment it seemed like he might attack, but he merely sat there, taking another huge swig of his mead before tossing the bottle aside. He barely seemed to notice as it shattered on a rock. She stiffened a bit at the sound, but quickly regained her composure.

"Oh, of course. How foolish of me to forget. Please forgive me," she apologized, kneeling down on the sand. "You must...also forgive my actions at the inn. You were so..._intimidating_," she breathed, her voice taking on a more sultry tone as she leaned in closer to him, setting her basket beside her. _Demure_ wasn't going to get her anywhere at this point.

"Intimidating, eh?" The Nord seemed to swell a bit, a smile creeping across his face. "Now what could be so intimidating about little ol' me?" He seemed to be relaxing, letting his guard down a bit. "Why, I'm nothing but a pussycat".

Vaera laughed softly, plucking a grape from one of the clusters in her basket. "I love it when a man takes command of a situation. You were so forceful when you struck down that Redguard. The s'wit who struck you down got lucky because he managed to sneak down the stairs. I'm sure you would have dispatched him in the same fashion," she cajoled, bringing the red grape up the her lips and pushing it suggestively onto her tongue.

Bjalk watched this with great interest, licking his own lips. "Well then, if I had know you were so interested I would have just taken you along with me when I left. I abandoned the two Imperials. I'm sure you and I would've had quite a night," he chortled, watching Vaera bring another grape up to her lips, holding it there as her eyes met his. The Nord reached out, moving a stray strand of hair from her face before letting his hand wander over her shoulder and down her back.

Vaera remained relaxed, but had to fight not to wretch as he moved closer. He positively _reeked_ of alcohol. The stench was almost tangible.

"Such a kind soul," she crooned, rolling the tiny fruit between her slender fingers, looking coquettishly up at Bjalk from the corner of her eyes. She raised her hand to his mouth, gently pressing the grape between his lips. He chewed with his mouth open, juices dripping down his chin. He crooked his finger at her with a grin. "Another?" she offered, reaching into the basket again, this time letting her fingers slip under the grapes to rest on the scroll beneath them. She placed her other hand delicately upon his thigh, the spell tingling up her arm from the scroll.

Bjalk's eyes flickered down to the basket. Right under the grapes he noticed Vaera's fingers resting on a piece of parchment with strange symbols on it. "You bitch!" he barked, reaching for his ax.

Vaera cringed, lowering her head as the spell rushed through her arm into Bjalk's body. For a moment she kept her head down, expecting to feel the brief impact of his cold steel before her world went black, but that's not what happened. She tentatively opened her eyes to look up. The Nord sat frozen, his weapon stopped above Vaera's head, an expression of rage plastered to his face. A light glow of magicka surrounded him. Vaera sighed with relief, turning to see Adrian with his hand arm outstretched, lightning sparking on the ends of his fingers. The Breton gave a sigh of his own before letting his arm drop to his side, wriggling his fingers to shake off the pent up magicka as he plodded over.

Adrian slowly waved his fingers in front of the Nord's face, as if he might somehow be faking paralysis. "Now, all we need to do now is lug him back to the guild hall. We'll leave him their wait for dear old dad to show up so—"

"That won't be necessary," a deep voice sounded from behind them. The pair turned toward the source of the voice. There stood one of the largest men either had ever seen. His silvery hair hung in long braids over either shoulder, beard also twisted into two thin plaits. He wore no armor, but his stony face told that he'd seen more in his life than even the most seasoned legion solider. The eyes were the man's most striking feature, blue and cold as the snowcapped peaks of High Rock. "I'll be taking the boy from here." The Nord's boomed like a roll of thunder, so deep he sounded like some ancient warrior of mythic age brought to life.

The two young mages quickly moved out of the way, allowing the gargantuan Nord to kneel beside his son. "Always trying to prove something," he hissed, prying the ax out of Bjalk's stiffened hands. "Well, you've certainly done that. You've proven that I've failed you. I haven't raised a man so much as a large boy who's not heard the word 'no' often enough," he scolded under his breath, looking at his son with a strange mixture of sadness and self-loathing. To Adrian, it looked like Bjalk may have cringed ever so slightly, but that couldn't have been. He decided it must have been the light playing tricks on his eyes.

"Noheim Cold-Eyes," a feminine voice piped from behind. Once again the pair turned, this time toward Eldja. "Well done, you two. Right on time, too. If I hurry there won't be too many sailors crowding The Flowing Bowl. Maybe enough of 'em for me to get friendly," she tittered, tossing them a wink. "If you two wanna join me, I'll be happy to buy the first round as a reward for a job well done. I think Noheim is going to take care of Bjalk from here," Eldja gestured toward the large Nord, who was now hoisting his son up over his shoulder like a sack of rice. "Give it some thought."

Adrian turned toward Vaera, beginning to feel rather bad about giving her such a hard time with this plan of action. He hadn't meant to put her in such danger.

"Are you all right?" he inquired, feeling rather foolish even as the words left his mouth.

Vaera's eyes met his own. Adrian had been expecting anger or contempt, but the Dunmer's eyes didn't show either of those. Instead, she looked shaken. "I'm fine, Adrian. I—" she trailed off, looking back toward Bjalk as his father hauled him off. The image would have made her laugh raucously had she not been inches away from death only moments before. "When I decided to join the guild I thought there would be study, then practice, then I'd be allowed to do whatever I wanted. I had no idea that I would have to put myself beneath a stranger's blade to get in," she chuckled nervously, still trying to make sense of the situation. The young mer found it hard to believe she had seduced a wayward Nord to earn entrance to the Mages Guild. It was almost laughable. _Almost._

Adrian chewed the inside of his mouth thoughtfully, listening carefully as Vaera spoke. "Well, if it's any consolation, by the time you do get in and your research in full swing you'll be begging to get back to the days of nearly getting your skull crushed in by drunken Nords. I mean it really does get _that _boring," the Breton joked, giving a light shrug.

Vaera couldn't help but chuckle. She turned toward Adrian with a smile before looking back toward the docks. "Did you want to head over to the bar with Eldja or were you going to go back to the guild hall to study like a good boy?" she teased, cocking a brow at him.

Adrian weighed his options for a moment before responding. "You know, I think I've done enough guild work for one evening. Besides, I think I at least owe you a drink for making you wear a dress then seduce a drunk Nord. After all this, I could use a few myself".

The sky went from bruised purple to a slate gray as the sun sank below the ocean. The Flowing Bowl echoed with laughter, but beneath the jovial air slunk a sinister intent. Murderous jaws waited to snap closer on their unsuspecting prey.


	4. Attempted Murder

Long years of secluded research can make you forget things. The type of things you don't even know you miss until you've experienced them again. For the first time since leaving Skingrad, Adrian realized how much he'd missed being out amongst people. The Flowing Bowl was a sailor bar full of rough characters, but they all seemed in good spirits tonight, especially the ones who seemed to be hovering around Eldja. More specifically, they seemed to be hovering around the front of her revealing dress.

"Sailors can be the best and worst of people," Eldja had cautioned. The Nord made a point of warning her colleagues about the reception they might get. Seamen were known to bear a grudge toward landsmen, especially other men, especially when they had been drinking. Adrian had hidden his nervousness at this; he'd been in a bar fight once before when he was a teenager—the scar on the top of his head could attest to that. It wasn't something he wanted to go through again. There seemed to little worry for such things, though. The sailors welcomed the group rather warmly, particularly the two ladies.

The tavern sang with a choir of scents. Roasting meat, pungent wine, sea air, sweat, and a very faint smell of vomit mingled together, forming a scent that was somehow wonderful instead of disgusting. At least Adrian found it to be wonderful, though it may have been the smell of simmering meat making him remember how long it had been since he had last eaten. Almost two days since that meager meal he'd received in Kvatch, but the Breton had made himself accustomed to eating very little, as many who surround themselves in their work often do. Eating tends to get in the way of things like the study of the different physical properties of soul gems or the effects of weak shock spells on various species of rats, but after two servings of cold mead hit an empty stomach, one tended to remember the importance of a meal. Adrian eagerly ate two plates of roast mutton along with several more glasses of mead. The Breton quickly realized how unwise it had been to devour so much in such a short amount of time.

"Are you all right?" Vaera inquired, a slight slur to her voice. The Dunmer had put away her fair share of drink, causing her face to take on a flushed tone, a very odd thing to see on her azure skin. "You look a little...seasick," she chuckled, little strands of ebony hair falling over her eyes, prompting her to blow them out of the way.

"I think...I'm going to head back to the inn. I need to get started on my studies, anyway." He held back a nauseous groan.

"Oh, all right," the mer responded. "Did you want me to go with you?"

"No, I'll be fine," Adrian assured her, shaking his head emphatically as he gripped the bar to keep himself steady. "Besides, it looks like someone else wants you to stay," he whispered, cutting his eyes over at a Dunmer in the corner of the room. The mer appeared to be an older gentleman, but he didn't quite look middle aged. Adrian feared the aging patterns of mer would always be a mystery to him. The mer had been giving Vaera an appreciative eye for the better part of the night. The Breton didn't particularly like the idea of leaving Vaera alone with him, but far be it from him to deny her a good time.

Vaera briefly turned toward the kinsman in the corner, clearly not as concerned with discretion as Adrian. A handsome specimen, but she was more concerned about her friend passing out on his way back to The Counts Arms, getting every stitch of clothing picked off of his person by the beggars. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Adrian replied. He let go of the bar, having apparently found his center. He didn't feel drunk, but his legs, along with his blurred vision, protested otherwise. He released his grip on the bar, beginning to wobble towards the door. "Enjoy yourself. I'm already tired. I'm...probably going to go to sleep soon, anyway," his voice slurred a bit as he spoke. He stumbled backwards a few steps before finally reaching the door, placing a firm grip on the handle in an attempt to keep himself from tumbling onto the stone path as he opened it.

Adrian shuffled through the door—nearly colliding with a pair of grumbling sailors—into into the warm night air. He placed his hand firmly on a nearby lamp post and closed his eyes tightly. It wasn't so much the drink as the overpowering feeling that he had eaten a live mudcrab. For a moment he wondered if something horrible hadn't been slipped into his food.

* * *

The Breton wasn't poisoned—the decent crowd of sailors in The Flowing Bowl had seen to that. Khajiiti eyes had no problem watching the Breton in the dark as he stumbled toward The Counts Arms. Even if he was suddenly stricken blind, Adrian's shuffling echoed quite loudly on the streets of the town proper. The legs were what troubled him. The legs plus the thickness of the head the ale had given him. But, it wouldn't take much to bring down his prey. The poisoned blade hidden under his shirt would see to that.

That Bosmer had been quite confident that if he couldn't get close enough to slip the poison powder into a drink, one cut from the blade would kill within mere seconds. Quite a painful death too, she'd told him. The victim stricken with mind-numbing pain before their insides liquefy, causing them to bleed from every orifice. Not the subtle kill the Brotherhood had wanted, but it would get the job done. The Wood Elf called the weapon Nightfang, a very appropriate nickname, as the dagger had a dull edge, but it's razor sharp tip resembled one of his own pointed fangs. The edges had to be kept dull to prevent accidental scratches, and the whole weapon had to be wrapped in thick leather to prevent accidental nicks. Even the smallest drawing of blood could mean a _very_ unpleasant end. He waited for a few moments outside of the boarding house, not wanting Lenoit to pick up on him. He would wait until he could be sure the Breton had gone upstairs where he could kill in private.

K'zir took a moment to look around, realizing he had completely forgotten to make sure no one followed him while he followed Lenoit. The streets of Anvil seemed to be full of palpable silence, made all the more ominous by the soft night songs of the insects in the cold grass. The Khajiit turned his eyes back to the door, feeling the wait had gone on long enough.

* * *

The last few ruby drops of wine glided past Vaera's lips. She looked morosely into the glass, realizing how solitary she felt since Adrian had stumbled out, a feeling like she was all alone even though sweaty sailors and busty bar wenches surrounded her. All seemed to be lacking in teeth. Eldja had shown little interest since she had found a group of Redguards to sit with. There were no chairs available, so she made a sacrifice, taking a seat in the lap of one of the larger men. Besides that, something about letting Adrian go off by himself bothered her. She couldn't shake the thought of him sacrificing his night to work while she had a good time, especially since he'd helped her with her recommendation. They were likely to be traveling together until they reached the Red Ring Road, so the least she could do was try to get along with him. Besides, she liked Adrian. Yes, he was hard-headed, overbearing, and a bit stuck up, but he seemed to have a good heart, something she knew to be a rare quality. Perhaps the alcohol made her more sentimental than usual, but she decided to go off after him. The Dunmer looked over at Eldja, who had moved from the bar to a table full of sailors who were paying rapt attention to her cleavage as she spoke. Vaera moved toward the door. Her drinks were paid for and Eldja would be left in several pairs of good hands. So she strode easily out the door, her legs much more steady than Adrian's had been, and walked down the water front.

As she approached the door she got the sinking feeling she wasn't alone. She turned her head enough to look subtly over her shoulder, laying eyes on a familiar silhouette backlit by the wavering lantern light. The Dunmer from the bar. Vaera smiled to herself, turning her head slowly back toward the large gate to the town proper.

_How flattering to have such a handsome admirer!_

She held in a giggle at the thought, pushing the gate open, making sure to keep a decent distance between herself and her follower. A lady could never be too careful about such things, after all. She stifled another giggle as yet another amusing thought popped into her head.

_After all, he could be a member of the Dark Brotherhood!_

Ralis smirked as he saw the little mer in front of him turn in what she seemed to think a subtle fashion to look behind her. Silly little thing. Good looking, though. Perhaps she would need a little _comforting_ after she found her companion face down with a knife in back.

_Such a tragedy, a young man cut down in cold blood for his gold. Let me buy you a drink to ease the pain. A toast to his memory? Perhaps you'd like to grieve somewhere a little more private. Let's go to my room. I can ease your pain, my dear._

As long as that s'wit K'zir managed to get the blade to draw blood, Lenoit's fate would be sealed. True, the Khajiit was incompetent—not to mention presently drunk as an acolyte of Sanguine himself—but Lenoit stumbled as much as K'zir did. Plus, K'zir knew Lenoits life was at stake. Lenoit did not. Hopefully that would prove enough of an advantage.

* * *

Adrian sighed as he seated himself on the edge of the bed. Merely reading the book's cover made his head swim.

"I'm not getting anything done tonight. Maybe it would be better to start fresh in the morning," he muttered to himself before stacking the books he had borrowed on the floor. He gripped the bed post, still having a bit of trouble keeping those pesky legs from doing things that they weren't being told. Still keeping a grip on the bed post, he leaned over to the candle on the desk and gently blew it out. That dizzying task completed, he let himself flop backward on the bed. The Breton let his eyes slip closed, breathing deeply as he felt sleep ready to engulf him. Suddenly, the door creaked open. Adrian sat up, squinting into the warm light of the hallway. "Vaera?"

* * *

K'zir only had so much patience. He waited until Lenoit made it safely upstairs, waited until he had retreated into his room, waited until he had turned his light out, but now the light peeking from under the door has ceased. He knew the time had come to strike. Carefully drawing the poisoned blade from under his shirt with one hand, he used the other to turn the handle, pushing the door easily open.

"Vaera?" he heard the prey call.

"Not quite," K'zir replied, his voice dripping blood.

He raised the dagger above his head, charging in to bring his susceptible prey's miserable existence to an end. Suddenly, there was a loud crackle as brilliant flash streaked out of the darkness. K'zir found himself pushed backwards by the flash of lightning from the palm of his prey's hand, striking him in the chest. He heard a thump on the flood behind him that could only have been the dagger. The Khajiit hit the floor, gasping for breath as the world spun around him. He shook the dizziness off, rising unsteadily to his feet. Lenoit had risen as well—he stumbled toward the Khajiit, obviously preparing another spell. K'zir did not plan to let his prey get the best of him. In true feline fashion, he leaped through the air, claws extended, catching Lenoit in the chest. The pair hit the ground hard, but K'zir could see Lenoit's head had struck the floor. The Khajiit raised a claw as the Breton's head lolled back, revealing his throat, an easy target for sharpened claws.

* * *

Vaera took another subtle look behind her as she approached the door of The Count's Arms. Seeing no one behind her, she turned fully, looking carefully around for her admirer. It seemed he had lost interest.

_What a pity._

Vaera pushed open the heavy wood door. She began to make a beeline for the bar, thinking Adrian might like something cold to drink, something to sort of establish peace between the two. Suddenly, there sounded a loud crash, as if lightning had struck overhead, but there were no clouds in the night sky. Vaera had heard that sound before. A shock spell, like the one Adrian had used on Bjalk at the Gold Road Inn. The Redguard behind the bar scrambled toward the stairs, but Vaera was already several steps ahead. She threw open the door just in time to see a Khajiit pouncing down upon Adrian with claws outstretched. The Dunmer instinctively reached for her sword, but it had been left along with her armor at the guild hall. She spotted a small dagger out of the corner of her eye. It looked like a toy or a replica. No time to be choosy, though.

Vaera snatched up the discarded dagger, raising it above her head with both hands. She charged down the hall, burying the blade in the Khajiits shoulder before she could even realize what she had done. He roared in pain, whirling about to catch Vaeras cheek with his extended claws. The Dunmer fell to the side, giving a brief shriek of pain as Adrian's attacker bolted down the hallway. Vaera pushed herself up, looking over at a dazed Adrian who sat up as he recovered from the tackling he had received.

"Are you...alright?" Vaera queried, still a bit confused as to what exactly had happened.

"I'm fine," Adrian replied, though he tentatively checked the back of his head for blood, "it's only a bump. Are _you_ alright?" he queried back, looking intently at the mer's injured cheek. "You're bleeding," he softly mumbled, stretching out his hand toward her face, "let me see." Before Vaera could react, Adrian had placed his fingertips painfully close to the wounds on her face. She winced slightly at the pressure on her cuts, but relaxed as she felt the warmth of the healing spell flowing from Adrian's fingers. She could feel the skin knitting itself back together, the wounds closed beautifully.

"There," Adrian affirmed as he finished, not looking half as intoxicated as he had back at The Flowing Bowl, "doesn't even leave a scar."

As Adrian withdrew his hand, the backs of his fingers brushed lightly over the skin of her cheek. She blushed, feeling a good deal of purpose in that caress.

"So, who was your friend?" Vaera shook off the feeling she had gotten from that brief brush, looking down the hallway in the direction the Khajiit had fled.

"I don't know," Adrian replied, "but I don't think he was just after my gold. I've seen daggers like that before. It looks like something a professional would use." Vaera saw a spark of fear in the Bretons eyes.

Vaera frowned, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you're looking too deeply into it," she assured him, "I saw him in the bar earlier. He probably went after you because he knew you were an easy target".

"Easy target?" Adrian cocked an eyebrow, causing Vaera to wave a hand in dismissal.

"Oh no, not like that! It's just that you were drunk and walking home alone."

"Maybe so, but I don't..." Adrian trailed off, looking intently at something on the floor. "What's that?" He gestured toward the object.

Vaera turned her head in the direction Adrian indicated. Sure enough, a small white drawstring sack lay on the floor. She gingerly picked it up then handed it over to Adrian. "What is it?" she leaned a little closer to Adrian to get a better view.

"Hold on, let me see" the Breton hissed, carefully untying the strings from around the neck of the bag. He slowly drew the sack open, revealing a minute amount of white powder.

"What is it?" Vaera repeated.

Adrian dipped the very tip of his finger in, collecting a tiny sample of the powder. He slowly rolled the silt between his thumb and forefinger before cautiously sniffing it. "I don't know," he admitted at last, "but I know someone who will." With that, he closed the bag, retying it tightly before tucking it into his pocket. "Do you think maybe our friend dropped it on his way out?" Adrian rose to his feet before reaching down to help Vaera to hers.

The mer accepted, allowing Adrian to gently pull her to her feet. "I didn't see him drop anything," she shrugged, trying to remember the finer details of the few chaotic seconds, "but, I don't see where else it could have come from".

Adrian sighed, running a hand through his scruffy head of hair. "After all this I don't think I'll ever be able to get back to sleep".

Vaera smiled, gently taking the Bretons hand. "I think I might have a solution" she lilted.

"What do you mean?" Adrian furrowed his brows confusedly.

"You'll see. Follow me," the mer instructed, coaxing Adrian into the room he had rented.

* * *

K'zir shoved his way past the bartender, barely touching any of the stairs as he sprinted. Before the poor Redguard even knewwhat hit him, the Khajiit had fled through the door into the night.

After a few moments he stopped running to rest against the building. Having barely noticed the dagger jutting out of the wound in his shoulder, he took a moment to pull the blade free. A slick of blood mottled with strands of Khajiit fur covered the steel, but K'zir still lived. "Maybe it doesn't even work. Maybe it doesn't work on Khajitt!" he panted. As soon as the words were out of his mouth his breath caught in his chest. He attempted to breathe, but his throat felt as if the claws of a powerful ogre were around it. His attempts at coughing were all for naught, as no air came out. _Something_ came out eventually, though. K'zir's mouth filled with warm metal flavored liquid. Then his eyes began to burn. He could feel them brimming with tears, but what flowed from them were _not _tears of frustration or pain . Eventually his nose and ears began burning, leaking red blood in steady rivulets. Soon, the would-be assassins insides felt as if they were on fire. Unable to call for help past the blood that clotted in his throat, he fell over. He died as painful a death as any ever had. Though it took less than a minute, K'zir felt remorse did feel remorse for one thing.

_It would have been spectacular to see._

Vaera smiled down at Adrian, gently brushing a few stray strands of hair off of his forehead. The whole ordeal had lasted only a few minutes, but it had been a pleasant experience for both. Vaera felt fulfilled while Adrian slept like a baby. She was very pleased with herself, having beaten her previous best time. The funniest thing was Adrian had sort of rambled right until he nodded off. Most were very quiet towards the end, but her mother had always taught her that everyone she encountered would react differently to a calm spell.

Vaera snuffed out the candle, leaving her companion to sleep. Perhaps she might find her mystery mer waiting for her downstairs.


	5. From Whence They Came

Adrian awoke in a heavy headed daze. He looked around through one bloodshot eye, running his fingers through his hair as he gave a drowsy yawn. He still wore the rumpled, musty clothes from the previous day, unusual for someone who normally disrobed to his undergarments when he slept. Slowly, the amnesia of sleep faded, allowing the memories of the previous night to return. The Breton shook his head slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he swung his feet off the bed. His stomach remained tied in a thick greasy knot courtesy of the food he gobbled down, so breakfast wasn't a big priority. The thing he really wanted to do was bathe, immerse himself in hot water to soak out the poisons—thankfully figurative rather than literal—of the last few days. Even an inn as opulent as The Count's Arms only provided a large basin of water, usually cold, but no alternative presented itself.

He disrobed, stepping over to the basin in the corner. He looked at his reflection in the water, scrutinizing his physique, his face, his skin. In the years before the Oblivion Crisis his body had been well toned from practicing his swordplay, but as he delved into his studies he became lax, letting his muscles deteriorate over the years until they were merely shadows beneath his skin. His face looked haggard like an old man's, more thin than he had ever seen it. Hooded eyes created dark, fatigued circles on either side of his nose. He sighed, shaking his head slowly. Further inspection of his form would only lead to greater disappointment in himself, so he decided to get on with his bathing.

After a brief search for the meager amount of soap he'd been provided, Adrian quickly washed, dried, and slipped into the same pants he had taken off, nearly defeating the purpose of bathing in the first place. He dunked his hair under the water in the basin before lifting it out to let the cold liquid drain out. The drops from his hair were slightly murky, reminding him of just how long it had been since he had taken a proper bath.

Vaera yawned, having perched at the bar to enjoy a slice of the pastry that Wilbur, the innkeeper, set in front of her. It wasn't incredibly fresh, but Salmo's sweetrolls were delectable, fresh or stale. She sampled some for quite a price when she'd passed through Skingrad. Truly a cozy city, Skingrad had charmed the mer like no other place she'd visited. Tall stone buildings all built side by side, resembling a phalanx of soldiers, made the streets into something more like hallways. To some it may seem confining, but the atmoshpere made her feel safe. Besides, the wine was like nothing that had ever passed her lips, the food was like none ever placed in front of her, and the people, while a bit aloof, welcomed her warmly enough. Speaking of which, Nirn's grumpiest mage seemed to have made his way downstairs.

"Morning!" the Dunmer chirruped to her crabby companion. "I take it you slept well?" Adrian answered her with a roll of his eyes, followed by a brief, most likely involuntary smile. Not only did he look refreshed, but—wonder of all wonders—he seemed to have bathed! "You and I must be on the same page," she commented, giving her own still wet head of hair a brief toss.

"Seems so," Adrian replied, taking a seat besides her. "Are you planning on keeping that dress?"

Vaera still wore the same dress Eldja had fixed up the previous night, though it looked worse for wear, rumpled in spots.

"Probably," Vaera responded, smoothing the garment out as it claimed her attention, "I doubt Eldja would be able to cram her enormous _assets_ into it now. I might as well."

Adrian smirked as he nodded in agreement, quietly declining Wilbur's offer of food or drink. Vaera ordered a cup of tea to drink with her sweetcake. Wilbur sprinkled tea leaves into the bottom of a delicate cup, adding hot water from the kettle before setting the steaming drink in front of the mer. She thanked him with a smile, lifting the cup to her lips to blow the rising steam away, eyes closed, a perfect portrait of serenity. The Breton's face pulled into something comprised of one half smile, one half discomfort, a look she was quickly growing accustomed to.

Every time Vaera made him want to smile he couldn't help but cringe at the idea, and not only because of her relentless ribbing. The Dunmer sparked up old feelings, feelings he would rather not have recalled. Every time a woman made him feel this way it ended badly, but the aftermath of such emotions never stopped him from falling head over heels all over again. He cut his eyes quickly away.

_No time for schoolboy fantasies._

"Did you ever meet up with your mystery admirer?" the Breton queried, pretending the cleanliness of his fingernails suddenly had great importance. Anything to keep him from making eye contact.

"No," the Dunmer replied with a shrug, "but his loss. If he'd stayed interested he might have shown up in time to save the day," the mer mused, absently chewing her bottom lip. "Then I could have shown him how _appreciative_ I was," she mumbled, letting her mind wander to darker, dirtier places.

"I'm sure you would've," the Breton remarked, sounding mostly annoyed, but Vaera thought she heard a tinge of jealously in his words.

The Dunmer's face flushed briefly with embarrassment before she managed to compose herself. "So, is there anything else you wanted to do today?" she inquired, trying to get away from the subject of 'appreciation' as quickly as possible. "Perhaps you should finally stop playing around with Khajiit and Nords. Start studying like you've been told," the mer chided, waving an accusing finger at the Breton, insufferable grin painted on her face.

"Funny," he replied with a humorless tone Vaera'd come to know quite well, "but no, I'm just going to return some of the books I borrowed. My armor's still at the guild hall, too. So is yours for that matter. We'll just collect our things and be on our way," he stated, suddenly becoming uncomfortable. He felt he had made an unwarranted assumption. "That is...if you still _want_ to travel together."

The thought of splitting up had never even crossed Vaera's mind, but without missing a beat the mer furrowed her brows, bringing a finger to her chin. "Hmm, we _are_ going the same way. I suppose it would be unkind to let you walk while I comfortably ride my horse. So yes, we can travel together under one condition."

"And that is?" Adrian retorted, rolling his eyes. He'd grown to expect her little jabs.

"You have to promise not to be grumpy the whole trip."

"_Grumpy_? I'm not grumpy!"

"Fine. You're irascible. You're petulant. You're terminally annoyed. Honestly, I'm almost certain that when you were born you didn't even cry, you just told the midwife what a piss poor job she did," the mer exclaimed. Her voice never sounded more than lighthearted, always holding that vexing smile, but the expression on her face made it difficult to tell.

There was a moment of awkward, almost tangible silence.

"Am I really that bad?" the Breton sounded almost hurt.

"I exaggerated," Vaera admitted, her voice sweetening, "but you do need to learn to lighten up."

He nodded. "You know, I wasn't always like this. Not exactly like this, anyway." His voice was filled with lament

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled by his sudden mood swing.

Adrian turned his gaze down to his lap, thinking for a moment, something strange and fearful in his eyes. "Nothing. Finish your tea and we'll get moving."

Vaera furrowed her brows, wondering if she'd ever figure out the moody man beside her.

* * *

Who knew Khajiit were so heavy? Then again anything that was literally dead weight was hard to carry. Not only that, but there was something a bit disconcerting about carrying a creature who'd died in such an indescribably painful way over his shoulders. K'zir's corpse was nothing but a limp, dripping mess by the time Ralis found him. The mer had to wrap him in a large bed sheet stolen from the Fo'c'sle, then carry him to a drop-off point for the Brotherhood to pick him up. He made sure to leave the tell-tale tail sticking out of the sheet so there would be no momentary rise in hopes for whichever poor s'wit was given the unpleasant job of coming to collect the body.

Hours later, after a looping hike out of town, purposefully taken to confuse his trail and make sure he wasn't followed, he picked up the scent of roasting deer meat, a sign that he was getting close to camp.

Tarafel would likely not care about the outcome either way. By Azura, that Bosmer could make snow seem warm. She would probably mutter something about how incompetent the Brotherhood had become before wanting to pack up and get back to Cheydinhal as soon as physically possible. Ralis sometime regretted joining up with her, sullen thing that she was, but she had skill. Skill brought money, though he wasn't sure of her claims about being in the Dark Brotherhood. The Dunmer never knew that to be an organization one could freely leave.

A strange little mer indeed, she would barely speak a word to him about any sort of small talk he might propose, but she could go on all day about the many different varieties of poison and their various uses—the best to mix into drinks, the best to sprinkle on food, the best for killing Redguards, the best for killing Orcs, the best for killing nobles, how with a few simple alchemical enhancements one can make skooma into a deadly toxin, and more. She never said anything beyond that, except the occasional request for assistance in disposing of a large body or something else that required great strength along with the obligatory banter about their jobs.

The oddest thing about her was that she never _ever _spoke about old kills. All the alleged Dark Brotherhood assassins Ralis met in the past—a lot of whom showed up in the Arena at some point, attempting to make a spectacle of their killing prowess—were only too happy to tell tales of the depraved things they'd done. Killing children, killing families, leaving the severed heads of adulterous husbands on the doorsteps of their mistresses... Tarafel never spoke a word of her kills. The only story she ever told Ralis was a sketchy tale of faking her death to escape the Dark Brotherhood, claiming she sensed an impending incident. She never gave any details, only mentioning she'd kept her head down until shortly before she met Ralis in the Imperial City. The Dunmer never doubted her claim, though. If nothing else, she was a brilliant assassin. Even if the story was untrue, he was certain she enact such a cunning scheme with ease.

When he finally came upon their camp, the little mer had quite a mess on her hands. Blood and fresh mud caked her arms to the elbow. Her face was streaked with the same substances, making her look like some misplaced warrior from the mythic ages, fresh from the field of combat. Ralis could easily discern the bland reality—she'd killed a deer in his absence, the slaughter obviously quite messy. The freshly turned earth telling that she'd buried the meat that couldn't be preserved. She didn't follow the Green Pact, calling the whole idea of ritualistic cannibalism 'primitive and ludicrous', but she did believe in showing respect to something—or someone—you killed.

"We're going back to the Imperial City," the Bosmer stated firmly before he could even render a greeting, moving a lock of blood soaked hair out of her face, "the Brotherhood can find _us_. I'm not going to wait around here for someone to show up, and I'm definitely not trekking all the way back to Cheydinhal. I'm going back to the Imperial City to resupply, then I'm going to Bravil."

"All right," Ralis muttered, not exactly sure what brought on her sudden show of force. "Don't you even want to know how it went?"

"I know how it went," she snorted, tossing her hair back, "he failed. They always manage to fail in one aspect or another. Someone sees them, or they leave a bloody knife behind or they step in the victims blood and leave footprints."

The Bosmer grimaced as she remember one such occasion. She once had to work with an Orc out of the Cheydinhal sanctuary. They were assigned to kill a few members of a noble family during a dinner party in Leyawiin. Tarafel had gone to painstaking lengths the night before to make a poison that would blend perfectly into their wine, staying up nearly all night to do so. But did the Orc follow the plan as he was told when they finally arrived? No! He simply marches right in and cleaves the heads off of the three Bretons, getting blood all over himself in the process. She growled at the memory as she sealed the last of the prepared meat into her leather pack, oblivious of the puzzled look on Ralis' face. She and the Orc were forced to flee the city then dive in to the Niben to throw the town guard off their trail. The moron nearly drowned because he insisted upon wearing his heavy steel armor instead of dressing in something a little less conspicuous. Nearly an hour of swimming through those fetid waters in Blackwood, all to escape guards that they wouldn't have had to worry about if he'd simply followed orders. The mer shook her head, deciding not to let such unpleasant memories spoil her mood. At least they could move away from Anvil. "Do you have Nightfang?"

Ralis nodded, drawing the wrapped weapon out from under his shirt, handing it to her gingerly. "Lenoit's got a Dunmer with him. She stabbed K'zir with your knife when he attempted the kill."

Tarafel arched her brows, not looking especially surprised someone from the Brotherhood could be stupid enough to have their own weapon turned against them. "Poor fellow," she muttered, sounding almost sincere. "What about the powder?"

"I didn't find it. He must've dropped it somewhere."

Tarafel shrugged. "It won't bring anyone to harm so long as they don't pour it in their wine. If Lenoit finds it there might be problem, but he would have to know what it is. It doesn't matter. The Brotherhood will find the body—it's not our concern anymore. All I want to do it get back east and wash up as soon as possible," she remarked, looking disgustedly down at herself. "At least we'll have enough to eat for quite a while, but I will be leaving you for a few days when I go to Bravil."

"What's in Bravil?"

"I feel I need to speak to someone. He's sort of a...spiritual advisor."

"I see," her partner nodded, smile creeping onto his face. "It's not Shady Sam, is it? I used to get _that_ kind of spiritual advice in my younger days," Ralis snickered, giving the Bosmer a wink.

Tarafel replied with a sneer before gesturing to the large sacks of preserved meat on the ground. "I'll need some help with these," she stated, hefting one up onto her back. "We should hurry. I want to get this back before the flies get to it. The spices I used will keep them away, but only for a few days." She began walking off, leaving Ralis to collect the last of their gear. He rolled his eyes as the Bosmer turned her back. Not once since they met had he seen her smile. Sometimes he wondered if she was capable of such things.

After gathering their things, Ralis quickly caught up with Tarafel. "I've been meaning to ask," he huffed, moving in beside her, "what exactly is it about the west that scares you so much?"

"It's not a matter of being scared," she replied briskly, "just a matter of keeping the past where it belongs."

The pair moved as swiftly as Ralis' load would allow toward the the Black Road. The Dunmer noticed on more than one occasion his diminutive accomplice would look over her shoulder with some discretion, as if making sure they weren't being followed, or perhaps to assure herself they were truly moving away from whatever lay in the west that caused her such anxiety.


	6. City On A Hill

_Author's Note: For those of you that actually follow this story and are wonderin what in the wide world of sports took me so damn long, it's a long story. I wrote different versions of chapters 6 and 7 that I didn't end up using. These 'lost chapters' will appear as a separate story, as advised by Pheonicia. :) Anyway, hopefully it shouldn't take me this long again._

There it stood in the distance, the hill in the West Weald topped by Kvatch. Lush trees at the base of the hill, green with life and vigor, slowly taper away as the eye is drawn to the top. The walls were scorched, something that would likely never change, but the trees and grass were still blackened, never growing. A candle topped with a charred wick. Wounds that would not be healed by time.

Several times Adrian thought the wounds left when his parents were pulled out of his life had closed, but they never did. Not really. Wounds as deep as those never heal. You learn to ignore them, learn to push the pain aside or distract yourself with the frivolities of everyday living, but they're still there. They lie in wait, ready to be ripped open by cruel memories triggered by senses. Familiar words or smells innocently passing by, tearing you from you reality, sending you back to the times and places you were most vulnerable.

The first time he'd experienced it, a year after the incident, he'd felt like the world collapsed around him. Poorly built backdrops on a stage falling away, revealing the sham he'd built for himself. Unable to breathe, he'd run home, knocking a basket full of tomatoes out of the arms of that nice Dunmer lady, she'd looked very shocked. He tried to apologize, but he could only wheeze softly, trying not to burst into tears in the middle of the street.

When he'd finally made it into his home, he slammed the door behind him, slumping down against the solid oaken frame. Tears ran down his face, but he dared not sob. Alone in his own home, he wouldn't allow himself such weakness, merely sniffing and choking. Then he laughed, rapping himself on the head as he thought how silly a grown man crying must look. How ridiculous he should feel for being so weak. All the nonsense triggered by the aroma coming from Salmo's shop. The spicy, sweet smell reminded him so much of his mother's baking.

"Cinnamon," he mumbled, his eyes still locked on the top of the hill.

"What?" Vaera retorted, turning to look at him. The look she gave him suggested she thought him touched by Sheogorath.

"Nothing. Thinking out loud," he dismissed, gently waving a hand. Such thoughts seemed to creep into his head from time to time. He wondered sometimes if he'd ever be able to fully put the grief behind him. It seemed doubtful.

"Did you even hear what I asked?" the mer inquired, maintaining that strange, humoring look, a look telling him she almost _knew _he'd lost his mind.

"No," the Breton admitted, "I drifted off for a moment." He sat for a moment, not truly sure how to explain himself. "Sorry," he added, trying to look sincere.

"I asked if you knew how things were going here," the mer told him, shaking her head with a crooked, bemused smile.

"Slowly," he replied after a moment, his eyes trailing from her own back to the hilltop, "_very_ slowly." He must have looked quite wistful, because Vaera expressed concern, her facing softening, her tone changing from annoyance to genuine concern. He assuaged her worries with a smile, which she returned in kind.

"How do we get up there?" she asked, not immediately seeing any sort of trail toward the wall.

"There," Adrian replied, pointing toward a break in the overgrown brush nearly obscuring the path from sight. "We'll have to go up some switchbacks to get to the top. The path gets pretty narrow, so we might want to walk the horse."

"_Navali_," Vaera corrected, gently stroking her steed's mane. "My horse has a name. It's Navali. How would you like it if someone referred to you by your race all the time?" A hint of mischief painted her voice, as if she might have held back a giggle at the end of her words.

Adrian merely rolled his eyes in response, unsure of whether or not she was serious or simply looking for new ways of getting under his skin. "Fine then. We should walk _Navali_ along the switchbacks. It'll be much safer.

Vaera agreed, stopping the horse so the two could dismount. The mer nimbly removed herself, standing aside to watch the Breton. During their travel from Anvil to Kvatch she'd shown him how to dismount a horse without falling face first into the dirt. He'd caught on rather quickly, but she liked to watch anyway, in case he slipped and sent himself sprawling onto the ground. He flustered so easily, she didn't mean to make fun of him, but his reactions were always so comical.

He didn't fall, but it didn't keep Vaera from teasing him.

"Very good," she began, her voice full of mirth. "Who knows? Maybe someday you'll be a fully competent human being," she teased, never changing the tone of her voice.

Adrian gave a sarcastic laugh, rolling his eyes yet again as he walked ahead of them, pushing his way through the brush. "Come on, I want to get under some shelter before it rains."

The mer looked about the sky, seeing nothing but blue plus a few wispy ribbons of cloud dotting the sky. "Rain? It's perfectly clear outside," she insisted, gesturing all around her.

"Everyday it rains," the Breton replied, looking cautiously around the bushes along the path, hoping no one had decided to lay in wait for passing strangers. Not that anyone went to Kvatch anymore, but the tall shrubs still made him wary. "I remember when it wouldn't _stop_ raining. Went on for months here without showing any signs of stopping."

Curious, the mer inquired as to how it could rain for so long in one place, having never heard of such a thing.

Adrian thought for a moment before giving her the only explanation he'd ever gotten.

"The Great Gate."

* * *

The higher they went, the more damage they saw. Unexplained burn marks on the path most likely caused by debris scattered during the destruction, plants long dead from the fires of Oblivion, all sorts of different reminders of that fateful day.

Finally, when they reached the top, they laid eyes on something neither had ever seen before. A small stone structure stood directly in the center of the rebuilt section of path leading to Kvatch's gate.

"What is that?" Vaera inquired, moving at Adrian's side, both walking toward the stone block.

"Don't know," the Breton replied, "it wasn't here when I stopped by a few days ago."

Upon closer inspection, the block turned out to be a carving. All in all, it reached nearly four feet, with several more likely hidden underground to keep it stabilized. It was smooth on all sides with a slight slant to it's top.

"There's an inscription," Vaera pointed out, tapping her fingers against the small words chiseled into the sloped top of the statue.

"The city of Kvatch dedicates this memorial to those who lost their lives during the Oblivion Crisis," Adrian read aloud, trailing off as he began looking through the list of names underneath. Some he'd heard, but most were totally unfamiliar. In fact, outside of Martin Septim, he only recognized two other names.

"Adrian?" Vaera piped softly. "Do you need a few minutes?"

The Breton cut his eyes away from the inscription with a soft sigh, turning toward the Dunmer with a strange smile. "No, but...no, I'll be all right," he answered, turning his eyes toward the gate.

"I understand," she replied, gently placing a hand on his arm as she looked down toward where he'd set his finger, reading the names beneath it.

_Arnald and Vivienne Lenoit._

The first time she passed Kvatch, Vaera'd opted not to go in. Honestly, she saw no appeal. She'd heard no news of the town rising quickly from it's ashes or even of a new count, which she expected, considering they'd yet to name an heir to Uriel Septim's throne and get the empire back under a legitimate rule.

There'd been much debate over the latter in the months following the brief battle with Mehrunes Dagon. Kings, Queens, Counts, Countesses, and droves of young men and women—all claiming to be illegitimate Septims—came announcing their right to the throne. Barenziah and Helseth showed, of course, making claims only they bore the tenure to properly run the Empire. Queen Elsyana of High Rock made the trip as well, claiming she'd pass the throne on to her heir and assume the position of Empress of Tamriel. Both parties were brusquely brushed aside by Chancellor Ocato, who had more pressing matters at hand, like how to avoid a war over the throne and still put the empire in clean hands.

Of course the physical and governmental reconstruction of Kvatch wouldn't rank high on his list with so much else to do. The mer looked around, not seeing the blackened streets she'd expected. Instead, she found herself surrounded by relative tranquility. Most buildings were either reduced to their bare foundations or under renovation. The people, though dirty and tired, were ambitious. The chapel stood once again, though Vaera could only imagine the effort it must have taken to dispose of the rubble made by a building so big. An impressive feat indeed.

Still, most of the city lay bare. Clean, but empty. One section contained nothing but large tents, some housing guards or civilians, some housing merchants, allowing them to sell their meager wares. Very few occupied the tents, as most were assisting with renovations, hard at work hauling lumber, bricks or mortar.

"It took nearly two years to clean the city of all the debris, plus another year to knock all the derelict buildings down, clear out all the basements, then clean out the castle," Adrian muttered, a far away look in his eyes, "but finally, they've started to rebuild." He looked wistful, gazing around at the bustle of activity, the mass of workers swirling easily around them the way a river flows around a boulder.

"Who do you think will be the new count?" she queried softly, more awestruck than her companion at the sight.

The Breton let off a long, exasperated sigh. "Hard to say. It' not a big town, but it makes a perfect start for anyone with serious political ambitions," he muttered, arching his brows sardonically. "The brilliant noble who pulled the twice-fallen city of Kvatch from it's ashes. That's exactly what they'll become, wearing the earnings of the people on their shoulders like a golden mantle." He chewed his lip for a moment, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, the only person who stands a chance of getting the throne at this point is Farwil Indarys."

"You're joking!" the Dunmer excalimed, eyes wide.

"Afraid not," the Breton replied, chuckling at her shocked expression. "He's the only one who's made a serious claim to lead the city. All other qualified nobles are either hesitant to take on such a big task or busy with their own worries. There's no way they could find someone worse, but the Count of Cheydinhal has a considerable amount of clout, especially when he can convince Barenziah to hold someone's ear. Mara save us if Farwil takes the throne." Fortunately, from what Adrian could tell, Ocato seemed to be holding out until the end of the reconstruction to officially name an heir, provided he wasn't violently usurped beforehand.

"Back already?" a voice familiar to Adrian's ears called. The pair turned to look upon Savlian Matius, former captain of Kvatch's guard and de facto foreman of the reconstruction. "I hadn't expected you so soon."

"What can I say?" Adrian returned, smile crossing his face, "I can't keep myself away. Besides, I'm going to be living here. Might as well get used to the place."

"She is a charming city, isn't she?" the Imperial joked back, chuckling softly in his chest before turning his eyes toward Vaera, smiling broadly. "And who's this you've brought with you?"

"Vaera," the mer replied without waiting to be introduced, "Vaera Levalyn, Mages Guild associate."

"I'm Savlian Matius," he replied, gently taking her hand in greeting, "it's a pleasure."

Adrian looked on, curious at Vaera's smooth demeanor. She'd mentioned on their ride that her father was a merchant, but now Adrian could see exactly how much success he must have had. She knew just how to carry herself in the presence of someone worthy of as much respect as Savlian. Refined, but confident.

"So, what brings you two through our fair city?" Savlian inquired, arching his brows.

"Looking for a place to spend the day and night." The Breton looked around, noting the increase in population over the few days he'd been gone. "Of course, we could always find somewhere else if it's too crowded here."

The Imperial quickly brushed Adrian's suggestion aside, informing him most of the residents slept in the chapel, which always left a few empty tents for passersby.

The Breton thanked him, offering any help they might need in return, but Savlian seemed at a loss for any sort of task to give them.

"To be perfectly honest," he began, hunching his shoulders in a soft shrug, "the best thing you could do it to avoid the square until the sun starts to go down."

Adrian knew precisely the best place to do so.

* * *

Kvatch once contained the only arena in Cyrodiil outside of the one in the Imperial City. The disaster reduced most of the building to nothing but a crumbling shadow of it's former glory, but it provided adequate space.

"Draw your sword," Adrian instructed, hands on his hips as he scrutinized the mer. "Hold it like you would if you were about to fight."

She did as he told, drawing the ornate Elven blade from her scabbard. Her companion studied her for a few moments, his eyes tracing from her shoulders to her hands then to her legs. "Let me see that," he said at last, reaching out, gesturing towards the sword with his fingers.

The mer handed him her weapon, which he began hefting about, gently tilting it this way and that.

"It's too big for you," he stated after a few moments, shaking his head slowly. "Hell, it's almost too big for _me_." He went on, describing how the blade seemed to be loose in it's setting, which threw off the power of a swing. He ran his finger gently along the blade, pronouncing it nearly dull as an egg shell.

"My father gave it to me as a going away present," the Dunmer explained, attempting to excuse herself. "It didn't seem so important to have a good sword. Not like I knew what a bad one looked like, anyway."

"We'll have to get you a new one. Even if it were sharp, it's too wide and heavy," he commented, handing the sword back to her. "Right now, let's see if we can't find something to use short term." He walked over to a section of collapsed wall that had revealed the inner works of the arena, looking around inside before pulling out a more suitable—albeit rusted—substitute for his companion. The Breton handed her the decrepit sword; she gave him a puzzled look in return.

"What am I supposed to do with _this_? It's even worse than the Elven blade," she protested.

"You're not going to be swinging it. Not today, anyway," Adrian clarified. "Now, stand like I'm standing, this is the proper stance for this type of blade."

The Dunmer attempted to mimic, trying to match her body to the Breton's, but clearly not living up to his expectations.

"No, that's wrong," he corrected, trying not to be annoyed. "Let me show you," he stood behind her, his chest brushing her shoulder blades as he guided her arms. "Like this, and turn your wrist a bit so the blade faces outward. Like that."

The mer nodded, unable to help feeling a little strange with Adrian standing so close. Her face took the slightest of flushes, gentle murmurs of response to his corrections. Her breath finally unhitched as he moved from behind her, walking around to her front as he inspected her.

"Are you all right?" Adrian's eyes found her face, still colored, "You're not feeling ill are you?"

"No, um...no, I'm all right," she stammered, shoving the tip of the sword between two loose stones in the floor, sticking it there. "Do you think maybe we could try this again tomorrow?"

The Breton furrowed his brows, unsure of why she suddenly decided to stop. She'd began acting strange shortly after they'd departed Anvil, acting somewhat skittish around him, not staying too close. Even on the horse ride between cities she'd gotten unusually quiet at times. Still, he didn't bother questioning her on, merely telling her they'd start again some other time.

"Besides," Adrian muttered, turning his eyes skyward, "it's about to rain."

Vaera mimicked him, looking up only to be greeted by a drop of rain striking her square on the cheek. A few soft taps began to echo from around them, confirming Adrian's prediction. She turned toward the Breton, bewildered as to how it could turn from perfectly clear skies to wet weather in such a short time.

He merely shrugged before trotting off toward the tents in an attempt to stay dry. Vaera followed quickly after.


	7. Theories On Mysticism

_Author's Note: This chapter was written before even the fourth chapter of this story was written, so if you notice any amateur mistakes don't be afraid to point them out. I was still a total greenhorn when I wrote this._

* * *

Wind and rain battered relentlessly at the outside of the canvas tent, Adrian's only shield from the wild weather outside. Horrid weather seemed to be predominant around Kvatch these days, as if some remnant of the Great Gate drew a myriad of minuscule natural disasters, unnecessary reminders of the damage Mehrunes Dagon caused years earlier. As if the damage yet to be repaired was too small a memento of that infamous night. The chapel itself took nearly a year to clean up and another to rebuild. Construcion of the homes and shops began nearly a year earlier, but the process hadn't proven as fruitful as many hoped.

The people heading up the clean up crew were kind enough to provide Vaera and himself with a single large tent with a bed and a sleeping bag, as well as large, slightly charred desk that had been dragged from the wreckage. They showed their benevolence yet again by allowing him to go into the basement of the ruined Mages Guild and dig out any books he may find useful. Exposure to the elements reduced the selection, but he had found a few gems protected by an overturned bookcase. Presently, he engaged himself in a slightly mildewed copy of _Before the Ages of Man,_ but a gust of rain soaked wind cut his revere short as Vaera unsealed the entrance and stepped through.

"I've never seen it rain so hard for so long," she commented, struggling to tie the canvas flaps closed.

"It's been like this ever since the Great Gate," Adrian replied, rising to help secure the entrance. "I think it has something to do with the Great Gate and the Oblivion crisis. Like somehow the breach between dimensions disrupted the natural order of things".

"What do you mean?" Vaera asked. Rain had soaked the Dunmer to the bone and a wisp of her ebony hair hung just in front of her eye, clinging to her cheek. She blew at it out of the corner of her mouth, causing it to flip upward and stick rather stubbornly to her forehead.

Adrian chuckled at her. "Nevermind," he said, walking over to a trunk with a stack of folded cloth on top of it, "use this." He tossed the folded cloth over to Vaera, who undid her hair, letting it fall about her neck and shoulders in a way that made Adrian want to run his fingers through it. To make matters worse she shook her head briefly from side to side, tiny droplets of water gleaming momentarily in the soft lantern light before disappearing into the shadows. She ran the cloth through her hair to soak up the excess water before vigorously scrubbing her head with it. By the time she'd finished she'd frazzled her hair, strands flying this way and that, making her look ridiculous and somehow more sensual than ever.

_Now if only she'd dry off the rest of herself as well._

"Are you all right?" Vaera asked, tilting her head a bit. "Something on your mind?".

Adrian recoiled ever so slightly as she pulled him from his imaginings. "Oh, it's nothing," he replied "just some stiffness. Some stiffness in my neck from...reading so long. Staying hunched over in front of the light and um...all that" he explained, trying to avoid making direct eye contact for fear her crimson gaze might only make his stiffness even worse.

"I'm sorry. Would you like me to try and massage it out for you?"

"No! I mean no, it's quite all right. I have more reading to do, anyway" Adrian said, returning to the large crate he'd been using for a chair. He wondered if she could see how red he'd turned in the meager lantern light.

As Adrian sat facing away from her Vaera gave a brief, but knowing smirk. "So, what are you reading?" she asked, moving up behind him and resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, smiling again as she felt him tense.

"A book on mysticism," he said, trying to resist the urge to shiver under her touch, and not just because she had cold hands, "_Before the Ages of Man_".

"I've never understood mysticism," Vaera said, reading a few lines out of the book over Adrian's shoulder. "I mean, I know what the spells do, but I've never been able to grasp how they're linked like all the other schools of magic".

"Well, you're about as far along as most is with actually _understanding_ mysticism. No one really knows the 'where' and 'how'. There are a lot of theories as to where the energy comes from and the meaning behind it. Most link it to the power of the mind or to some otherworldly force like the Daedra, but I've always thought it came more from inside of us," the Breton explained, "I won't bore you with the details, though".

"By all means, bore me," Vaera said, taking a seat on the box beside him, "maybe a lecture will help me fall asleep".

Adrian gave her one of his annoyed humorless glares, but the Dunmer just looked expectantly back at him. "Very well," he muttered, and began looking around the room for a metaphor.

* * *

Ralis huffed through his lips, making a sound much like a horse does during quiet hours in the stables. Wispy clouds dotted the sky, cotton snails meandering across the blue slate above. The high bushes all around restricted any sort of pleasant view, but Tarafel said it would be the best place to rested. She had the strangest penchant for privacy, never wanting to mingle any more than absolutely necessary. Even in the wilderness east of the Imperial City, she remained wary.

He didn't know how long they'd been sitting, but he was keenly aware of how utterly bored he'd become. The food filled he'd cooked filled him, but Tarafel surprised him by eating three thick slices of venison. Scaring off the group of Imperial's from the campsite they'd set up in proved to be great fun, even if she refused to let him kill them. They'd screeched like frightened little girls when he'd summoned his Clannfear, tripping over each other as they fled. The Dunmer felt certain one of them wet his own pants during the scramble. His Bosmeri companion boggled at his knowledge of conjuration, as he'd never shown interest in any other type of magic.

True, an arena combatant found little need for spells if they had talent with a sword. Ralis most definitely fit into the category. No need for spells to burn his enemies, give extra protection, or camouflage. A true warrior needed no arcane tools. A partner, however, could be incredibly useful. The muckity-mucks who ran The Arena occasionally liked to give the crowd an epic show, pitting a strong combatant against three able bodied opponents or wild animals, sometimes both at once.

Ralis never saw calling for a little _outside help_ to be too unfair. After all, the whole purpose of a show is to entertain the audience, and Daedra could be ever so useful in that regard. A small group of scamps easily outwit an unprepared opponent, giving the crowd a few good laughs. Some of the higher echelons of Daedra, Churls, Kynreeves, and the like, could provide a decent distraction when faced with multiple enemies or a single enemy skilled with a bow. The Dunmer loved Daedroths above all other Daedra. Dull beasts, they horrified the crowds, but could be easily manipulated. Once he'd even commanded one of the creatures to dangle a young Pit Dog above it's open maw, reveling as the crowed shrieked in horror. The little stunt almost got him banned by the powers that be, but afterwards the crowd came back day after day, asking when Ralis would be back.

Tarafel finally broke the silence, having turned to see Ralis sitting by the fire, chuckling to himself. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Strolling through fields of memory," the red-eyed male responded. Tarafel gazed intently at him for a few moments before turning back to her work.

"Sometimes you surpise me with how articulate you are," the Bosmer replied blandly, sound matter-of-fact instead of surprised.

"How do you mean?" Ralis asked, sitting up to take note. Not once could he recall Tarafel complimenting him.

"I mean you're not quite as stupid as you look," the mer responded, voice still containing no hint of flavor.

The Dunmer simply cocked an eyebrow, not sure whether to be offended or amused. He decided to change the subject. "So, what are you up to over there?"

The Bosmer turned, allowing him to see the arrows, among other things, laid out before her. "I'm treating some of my arrows while I have the chance. I tend to have to use them up during contracts, so I never have as many as I need."

Another odd quirk the Dunmer noticed, Tarafel never referred to anything other than 'true poison' as poison. Anything that caused an effect other than swiftly sapping an enemy of their health—often ending very messily, as unfortunate K'zir found out—she called a 'treatment'. She'd spend all her spare hours tapping away in her mortar, claiming she wished to see how deer blood reacted when mixed with powdered stinkhorn cap, or if ectoplasm might mix more effectively with ground nightshade than troll fat would. Ralis never found all this as fascinating as she did, but it intrigued him to see exactly how excited she could become. Once he imagined he'd even seen her _smile_.

"What are you working on now?" The Dunmer suddenly found himself interested, not in the alchemy, but in the reasoning behind it.

Tarafel ceased her pestling, sitting still for a few moments before posing a question. "How do you poison an Argonian?"

Ralis shrugged, well aware of the Argonian immunity to poisons. "I suppose you can't," he replied, now thoroughly intrigued.

"Exactly, they're resistant. You can't drown them either. So, what _would _work?"

"I suppose you could paralyze them."

"Yes, but you can paralyze anything. Paralysis spoils the hunt. Disease is also out of the question. They're resistant to that as well, plus diseases are too unreliable. It's sometime impossible to know whether or not they'll be fatal. So what do you do?"

"I don't know," Ralis resigned with a shrug, wondering if the little mer could answer her own question.

"You make them clumsy," she responded, gently rolling the head of an arrow through the puss colored paste in her mortar. "Certain plants produce a treatment with effects similar to a burden spell. When assaulted, an Argonian will search for water above all else in order to escape or regroup. If I let an Argonian get underwater, my arrows will be useless, about as effective as snowballs. Even if I could get them to pierce the surface of the pool, the treatment would wash off immediately, leaving me with nearly useless arrows. If I can keep them slow but moving, they'll continue to flee for the water, holding the hope of escape."

The Dunmer shrugged. "I still don't see why you would bother when you could paralyze them, or sever their spine. I've seen you knock birds off of branches on trees on the other sides of valleys. Why bother with all the complication?"

"Because," she began, her voice taking a harsher, almost vicious tone, "anyone can paralyze a foe. Anyone can turn their enemy into a pincushion. There's an art to what I do. Time, patience, sweat, blood, and tears go into my experiments. Often literally." The mer drifted off as she spoke, a sort of gloom taking her. Ralis often saw such looks on the faces of those who'd lost something valuable, a spouse, a child, their home. Her emerald green eyes looked right through him, scanning the trees to the north, almost as if she expected someone to step through the brush. "If I never explored, I would learn nothing from my kill. It would serve me no purpose, other than fulfilling the terms of a contract." With that, she ceased her speaking, quickly tucking her alchemy equipment into her pack, shaking off the strange mood with a flick of her hair. She stood up, stretching her arms above her head, jutting her hips to one side as she stretched her stiff muscles.

This little spectacle made the Dunmer take notice all over again, his eyes tracing over her sweet curves. Tarafel's attitude did not mar her beauty. Honey colored skin, waves of silken chestnut hair, and a dark sensual voice.

_Now, if only I could get her to act a little sweeter..._

Ralis cut his eyes away as the Bosmer turned toward him. "Let's go. We've sat here too long as it is."

"About time," Ralis muttered, hefting himself to his feet. Tarafel's tireless pace had moved them more than half of the way to the Imperial City where they'd be able to get their new assignment. The Dunmer could only hope it would be a little more interesting than simply cleaning up after an amateur.

* * *

Adrian snatched up a piece of parchment and a quill from the desk and set the slip of parchment down in the lantern light. "Imagine this sheet of parchment represents your magicka. There's a multitude of things you can manipulate this magicka into doing," he explained, making a few crude scribbles including a shield, a sun, a cross, a tiny face vaguely resembling a scamp's, and a zig-zagged line that could only have been a lightning bolt. "Now, you can manipulate your magicka by using one of these schools, but it means you have to change the natural form of your magicka by turning it into fire or light, but the magicka can also be manipulated without really being turned into anything," he went on, now folding the piece of parchment on the table into something. The yellowed sheet tore and split under his fingers, but he remained undaunted. When he finished, the item he had folded the parchment into vaguely resembled a kite. "The force that is magicka can be used all on its own," he said, and gently flung his creation into the air. It glided for a moment before making a sudden turn and striking the ground nose-first. "Does this make sense to you?" he asked, grimacing a little.

Vaera smiled, but shook her head slowly. "Sorry, but not really." She shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "I mean, I don't really understand what magicka is. I've always thought it was just something that you have inside of you. Kind of like fuel for your spells," she mused. "Would I be wrong?"

"I couldn't tell you, but you have no need to be sorry about anything. Sorcery itself is difficult to grasp, and besides, I gave you an awful example a moment ago." The Breton couldn't help smiling at his own expense. "The truth is no one really has all the answers to any question pertaining to the arcane arts, least of all to mysticism. That's one of the things that attracted me to it. I wanted to be able to break new ground and answer questions no one had been able to answer. The way I've always thought of it is that each school takes advantage of something outside of magicka. Destruction manipulates forces of nature, alteration manipulates the body, illusion manipulates the mind and so on. I think mysicism manipulates willpower or inner strength. Spells that allow you to move objects, or deflect blows, or capture another's life force, or simply view it. You can relate all of these things to force of will, so maybe _that's_ what magicka truly is. What else could the explanation be?" Adrian queried.

Vaera hoped he'd posed the question rhetorically, because she had no answer. She did give an oh so pleasantly apologetic smile, though.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to prattle on," Adrian , cheeks tinged with a light blush. Years spent in a basement made you forget not everyone found your research as interesting as _you _did.

"You're not prattling at all," Vaera responded, having pulled out a dry set of clothes to sleep in, " I wish I knew as much about my school as you do about yours". She turned, giving him a smile, sincere as he had ever seen, and he had seen quite a few faked smiles from women. "Would you mind turning around for just a few moments?" she asked, cutting her eyes down at the dry clothes in her arms.

Adrian nodded, turning as requested without hesitation. As he heard Vaera shedding her clothing he couldn't help but imagine the spectacle he'd denied himself. Unlike most Dunmer, whose skin tones ranged from a ruddy gray to a pale green, Vaera's was the most enchanting tone of deep blue he had ever seen on one of her kind. He could just imagine the feel of her skin, warm, slightly slicked with the rain that had soaked through her clothes. What might that azure skin feel like under his fingertips?

"You can turn around now," she called, her voice scarcely audible above the rain.

Adrian did so, almost wishing he hadn't been so honorable. Vaera, now dressed in an olive green tunic and a pair of worn brown pants, looked rather charming. "They didn't have anything else except gowns and armor," she yawned, seating herself on the bed.

"At least they had something and you don't have to sleep in your wet clothes," Adrian stepped out of his boots and snuffing out the lantern. The day had been far too tiring for him to do any more studying.

"I would have done without them for the night" Vaera replied, lifting the blanket before slipping herself beneath it.

_There's that stiffness again._

Adrian attempted to ignore Vaera's comment, laying down on the sleeping bag and folding his arms beneath his head. He closed his eyes, already feeling like he could sleep easily. Vaera chimed in, her voice barely a murmur.

"What's that?" Adrian asked, sitting up to look at the Dunmer as she stared at him from her bed.

"I think I understand why Serrian chose you," she repeated, her red eyes glowing like smoldering coals in the dark.

Adrian cocked an unseen eyebrow. "Is this going to turn into some kind of joke at my expense?" he asked petulantly.

"No, I'm just trying to say...I think you're very capable. Serrian put the guild in very capable hands."

"Wait, are you actually paying me a compliment?" The Breton's eyes widened a bit, expecting the mer to burst into a fit of laughter at any moment and bring this moment of hope crashing down around his ankles. "This is new for you."

"First time for everything," Vaera said with a grin, "but don't get too accustomed to it. I'll be breaking your back again tommorow".

Adrian shook his head slowly and laid back down.

_What _am _I going to do about her?_


	8. Onward

Kvatch greeted the day with a sense of pluck Vaera'd never witnessed. Workers bustled through the street, men getting to their respective tasks, women preparing fires on dry sections of street to cook. The rain stopped midway through the night, much to the relief of a certain Breton who'd found that he couldn't seem to avoid leaks in the ceiling of their ten, no matter where he lay. Luckily, the people of Kvatch were familiar with the problem of constant rain, covering their tools and work sites as best they could with salvaged tent material. The stalwart citizens moved quickly, taking the protective sheets down, folding them up, and getting them out of the way.

For the first time the Dunmer took a good look around, noticing the progress made by almost constant work for the past few years. On the surface, it didn't seem like much, and she would have been vastly disappointed had Adrian not explained how they'd cleared the streets and demolished buildings of all debris, as well as the late count's castle and the massive pile of rubble created by the steeple of the fallen chapel, most of which the survivors had accomplished with little or no help. As far as her companion was concerned, it was coming along well, but Vaera didn't see four years of homelessness as making much progress.

She turned in time to see Adrian, hair and shirt still soaked from his troubled sleep, exiting the tent, looking far more annoyed than usual. He couldn't be blamed, as his hair had dried somewhat during the night, leaving him with quite a mess up there. The Breton ran his hands through it, attempting to smooth out the kinky jumble. His efforts were to little avail.

"Don't you say a _damn_ thing," he grumbled, having seen Vaera's face straining against a fit of laughter.

The mer simply shook her head, afraid opening her mouth would result in a regrettable outburst and hurt the poor thing's feelings. She'd come to see that beneath that stony Colovian exterior was something a bit more fragile; something she didn't wish to antagonize.

After another fruitless attempt to smooth out his jumbled locks, Adrian asked Vaera if she was ready to move onward.

"What? We're not going to stay?" The mer sounded bewildered, having expected that the Breton would be the type to encourage a few days stay to help the benevolent citizens of Kvatch who'd so eagerly shared their meager lodgings with them, but such was not the case.

"If we stay, we _would_ be a help, but where would we start? I have no experience in construction or masonry, do you?" He arched his brows, an almost apologetic expression, as if he felt he'd disappointed her in not opting to stay and render aid. To some extent, he was right. "Besides, if we stayed it would only make things worse when we actually left. If we began to help with construction on a home, what kind of people would we be when left after a few days or a week? It would be as if we'd given up."

The mer pondered the subject for a moment. She hated the idea of leaving all the work to the homeless citizens after they'd stayed a night for free, but Adrian was likely right.

"Besides," the Breton spoke up, interrupting Vaera's thought flow, "We've got places to be. If we move quickly enough we may be able to step through Skingrad's gates before nightfall." As he uttered those words a small smile seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth, reminders of home bringing warmth to his heart, shining into him despite his dingy surroundings.

* * *

A gentle breeze brought Ralis momentary relief, cooling the sweat beading upon his dusk hued brow. The Dunmer basked in that brief moment of coolness, closing his eyes as he attempted to savor the feeling as long as he possibly could. Inevitably, the sensation ended, and the mer once again had to face the uncomfortable reality of clothing dampened by perspiration and an unpleasant chafing in his nether regions. Not to mention the myriad painful blisters he felt burning on his feet.

Up ahead, Tarafel moved easily forward, seemingly undaunted by the forced march she'd put Ralis and herself through during the night. How in all the screaming hells did she expect him to walk so far on _less than an hour's sleep?_ And of course she was still full of vitality, she didn't have to lug around her own body weight in equipment, including the ridiculous addition of deer meat she'd packed for a trip that shouldn't have taken more than a few days. He understood they needed food, but this was enough to feed a whole family of barbarous orcs for nearly a week! All because of some ludicrous practice. She refused to waste any edible part of an animal. She'd even collected the animal's blood in two small bottles, unquestionably in preparation to make rotmeth. Ralis cringed at the very thought. He'd sampled a few swallows of _that_ particular delicacy before, afterwards deciding if he should ever find himself lost in the wilderness with nothing to drink but rotmeth and his own urine, he'd stomach the liquid coming from his body over the aged extractions of some animal.

The only reason he didn't have to drag the beast's vital organs along with him is because he'd convinced her that they'd go bad, even packed in salt. She'd buried the organs, bones, and skin in one large grave, claiming she would 'give the animal back.' All rubbish as far as Ralis saw it, not that he'd ever say anything. Tarafel got them the job, which meant she'd be the one to claim the reward.

Mere moments after the breeze cooled him, something else brought the mer a wonderful sensation of relief. They'd crested the top of the last ridge marking the stony landscape of Colovia, allowing them to see White Gold Tower looming in the distance, a monolith marking the end of a long, ultimately fruitless journey. Even without a body to present, traveling such a long distance for nothing deserved some sort of compensation.

As if on cue, Tarafel stopped then set her pack down on the grass. "We should rest for a moment," she commented in her dull monotone voice, giving Ralis a strange glance as he elatedly set down their belongings, watching the mer grimace as he rolled the kinks out of his shoulders.

"About damn time," the mer grumbled. No trees were nearby to provide cover, so Ralis opted to sprawl out in the grass, an arm over his crimson eyes to shield them from the sun.

"I'll be leaving shortly after we arrive in the city," the Bosmer idly mentioned as she sat, her voice nonchalant. She drew a handful of arrows from her quiver along with a small vile of poison from her bag and began to treat the head with the powerful toxin, being sure to hold it a fair distance from herself so as not to inhale it too deeply.

"Yes, I believe you mentioned that," Ralis mumbled in response, the mer struggling to stay awake. The grass made an excellent cushion, especially to one so tired he'd sleep on the back of a living land dreugh if the beast would allow. "You're going to Bravil, are you not?"

"Did I?" A slight sound of surprise, the only thing coming close to real emotion Ralis had heard in her voice thus far. "I must have forgotten. My mind must be more fatigued than I'm aware of. Yes, Bravil. If you want to wait for me, I'll return in about a week's time. If not, then it doesn't matter."

"What about the reward?" Ralis spoke around a yawn, sitting up to prevent himself from becoming too comfortable.

"I'll handle that before I leave. What's the matter? Did you think I'd cheat you?" Ralis thought he heard a hint of contempt, but he may have been mistaken.

"Not at all," the drowsy Dunmer retorted, rubbing his stiff neck, "Only making sure you weren't expecting me to wait."

"You'll have your money, Ralis. You'll not go hungry, believe me," she replied curtly, gently blowing on the arrowhead to aid the poison in drying.

"I'm not worried about being hungry," the Dunmer chuckled, "I'm worrying about being dirt poor and undesirable."

"Then you've no need to worry, Ralis," Tarafel replied, setting the treated arrow aside before picking up another, "There's nothing on the face of Nirn capable of making _you _less desirable."

That time Ralis heard the contempt unmistakably.

* * *

Adrian let off another loud sneeze, rocking his whole body and slopping a bit of his drink onto the wooden steps.

"Gods bless!" Vaera called from around the corner, the Breton only rolled his eyes in response. Pushy little mer. The minute he'd sneezed, she'd insisted they stop at the next inn they saw. Unfortunately for Adrian, there had been quite a few erected to service workers initially coming to aid in the repair of Kvatch, so it took only minutes before they stumbled upon one. Then, she'd forced him to wrap up in a blanket and sit on the stairs so he could be close to the fireplace.

"I'd only been slightly warm outside. Now, I'm burning up," he mumbled to himself, swirling the warm mead around in his mug. Only after he refused to let her send him to bed did she consent to let him sit out in the common area, but on the condition he stay near the fireplace. The Dunmer seemed to act stranger toward him every day, more intrusive, more pushy, more talkative.

And it hadn't simply been her demeanor. She seemed to be sticking around him more, finding excuses to put a hand on him, a nudge as they conversed on horseback or a hand on his shoulder when they'd sit together and let Navali rest. Stranger still, a few times, he'd caught her looking at him pensively. He'd asked why, but every time the mer would feign ignorance. Annoying as the girl had been to begin with, she seemed to be getting more so as time went by.

Of course, though he'd never admit it, a part of him didn't mind it so much.

"How are you doing up there?" the mer popped her head from around the corner, leaning back in her chair to look at him.

Adrian grumbled softly, shooing her away with a flick of his wrist, refusing to make eye contact. He could see her coming up the stairs out of the corner of his eye, her hand felt ice cold when she pressed it to his forehead, making him shudder.

"Still warm. You shouldn't have slept under that leak all night," she scolded gently.

"You'd taken the bed," he mumbled in response, cutting his eyes toward her.

"Could have slipped in next to me," she taunted, sitting down next to him, "I'm a pretty deep sleeper. I probably wouldn't have noticed."

Again, the Breton grumbled, turning his eyes away from her.

"And don't even think we're leaving tomorrow," she pressed her hand to his chest, pushing him so his back rested against the steps, "if you're not doing better. Right now, I really think you ought to go get some sleep."

Adrian huffed, then nodded, defeated. He'd begun to feel legitimately ill.

"Come on, you." Vaera slipped her arm around his own and helped him to his feet. "The earlier you get to sleep, the earlier we can leave tomorrow.

Adrian sighed, giving an annoyed look back at the Dunmer as he plodded up the stairs. The fact he wasn't truly annoyed surprised him. In fact, he felt a sensation in his chest, a sort of warmth unfamiliar to him in recent days. He was happy.


	9. Homecoming

_Author's Note: Yes, I know it's been forever. I've had to deal with a lot of things these past few months, just ask Pheonicia. :P I hope to update more often now._

* * *

Adrian's Cure Disease spells took effect during the night, much to his relief, allowing him and Vaera to move on. The ride from the inn to Skingrad hadn't been nearly as trying as any of their other journeys, as Vaera pushed Navali hard at Adrian's request, the Breton obviously quite eager to get home. He made his feelings clear with an almost constant yammering about the things he planned to do once he got home.

"First, I want a good meal. That mutton we ate this morning was starting to turn, I could taste it. Then I've got to go take care of a few things in the market," he went on, the mer in front of him rolling her eyes unseen, "I've got so much to do. We may have to stay here a few days just so I can do all I need to do."

"You act like you've been away for months," Vaera retorted, turning her head to look at her companion, "And what's all this talk of _we_ have to stay? What if I don't feel like staying?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Uh, I didn't mean it like that. You can leave ahead of me if you like," he responded, a bit embarrassed he'd taken her company for granted.

"Relax, I'm not letting you go anywhere alone," she chuckled, smirking as she saw the color come to Adrian's face, "Honestly, I don't know how you even got on without me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the Breton asked dejectedly, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brows.

"So you _weren't_ going to walk yourself to death on the way to Anvil?" The Dunmer's voice took on a haughty tone, one Adrian had grown familiar with. She always made herself sound like nobility when she talked down to him in her playful way.

"Right, _I_ was the helpless one. I suppose cowering under Bjalk's ax was a clever ploy to lull him into a false sense of security, right? You were preparing a brilliant counter-attack, is that it?" Adrian teased in return. Judging by Vaera's sudden rigidity in the saddle, she obviously didn't enjoy the taste of her own medicine.

"Now let's not ruin this stop with bickering." The Breton patted his companion lightly on the shoulder. "I'm even going to pick something up for you while we're here, how about that?"

Vaera stayed silent for a few moments. "Something nice?" She put a hint of a pout into her question, sugaring her voice up ever so slightly.

"Something _very_ nice," Adrian assured.

* * *

"The guild hall?" Vaera balked, Adrian's suggestion taking her by surprise, "You have a house here, don't you? Why would you want to stay at the guild hall?"

"Because," Adrian began, leading the Dunmer up the street, "we're on guild business, and studying will be easier if we're actually _in _the hall," the Breton explained. "Besides, I have a few things to get in order in my home."

"You'll let me see it, though? Won't you?" The mer sounded more enthusiastic than Adrian knew her to usually be.

"What's got you so interested in my house?" he stopped and turned, furrowing his brows at his companion. Surely she was setting him up for some sort of joke at his expense.

"I want to see where you live. I mean, I've been curious," she answered, glancing away from his briefly.

"You're honestly curious?" the Breton queried, elevating his brows in surprise.

Vaera nodded, shrugging softly. "I'm not sure why, but I've been curious ever since it became clear we'd be here together. Maybe I'm curious to see how someone like you lives on your own."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the Breton demanded, narrowing his eyes at his tormentor.

Vaera merely smiled and walked ahead of him. "Nothing," she lilted, voice turning melodic as she answered him, "nothing at all."

* * *

Adrian pushed open one of the heavy doors to the guild hall, leading Vaera inside.

"Why Adrian, I didn't expect you back so soon," a soft female voice greeted, "I thought you'd be on the road for weeks yet."

"I'm only passing through, Adrienne," the Breton replied to the woman standing by the staircase. To Vaera, something seemed strange about the way the two Bretons looked at each other, like some unspoken messages were passing between them.

"I'm sure you know Vaera. She passed through a week or so back," he gestured toward the mer, changing the subject a little too quickly for the mer not to feel her suspicions were affirmed.

"Ahh, yes, I remember you," Adrienne stepped toward the pair, crossing her arms. "I never expected you'd run into our little Adrian. He taking you under his wing, is he?" She shot a look at Adrian, only for a moment, but Vaera saw it clearly.

"Not exactly," Adrian chimed in, answering for Vaera before she could even speak.

"I remember when I took him under _my_ wing," Adrienne continued, apparently pretending she didn't even hear what he'd said. "So many years ago. An apprehensive student, but he learned very well...and _very_ quickly," she went on in her sultry, cultured voice, her former student giving her a rather indignant look. "Why, it seems like only yesterday..."

"I have to go," Adrian cut her off, prompting a soft chuckle from the other Breton. "I'll be back later on."

"You're leaving me here?" Vaera turned, wondering why her companion seemed so eager to separate himself from her.

"I have a few things I need to take care of. I'd prefer to do it alone." The Breton pushed the heavy door open again. "I'll come back for you when I'm done." He stopped for a moment, turning to face the Dunmer. "Then I'll take you to see my house, all right? Late this evening."

Vaera nodded, watching Adrian as he stepped out and closed the door behind him. She then turned, seeing Adrienne had busied herself with a book. "What was all that about?" the mer inquired, standing by the door.

"It's not any of your concern," the magister replied, a not so subtle coldness to her voice, "Sufficed to say, I've known Adrian for quite some time." She examined Vaera, those hard, intelligent eyes scrutinizing the mer and clearly finding her lacking in some respect. "So, how did you meet him?"

"I sort of ran into him. We stuck together after that," she answered, not letting her gaze flicker away from Adrienne's eyes. The older woman seemed to be waiting for Vaera to make some sort of mistake, show some sort of weakness and give her the opportunity to pounce. Vaera didn't intend to give her that opportunity.

Adrienne simply smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye. "I see. He's an excellent mage, I'm sure you'll learn a lot from him." The older woman rose from her seat and started toward the stairs, letting up on the mer for the time being. "As long as your here, I may as well put you to some good use. Follow me, I've some things that need to be reorganized."

Vaera sighed and blew a few loose strands of hair out of her face. Somehow, she knew this would turn into a most unpleasant evening.

* * *

Sulfur and bad wine, the pungent mixture of scents assaulted Adrian's nostrils, causing the Breton to blink rapidly. He looked around the dimly lit room, not seeing any signs of life, save for a spider idly spinning its web it the corner of the room.

"Agnete?" he called, a sudden thump from behind her counter coming as a response.

"Not so loud," a voice moaned from behind the oaken counter. A tall, thickly built Nord rose in the shadows. She dusted herself off, clenching her eyes shut, so as not to let any light in. "Whaddya want?" She peeled one eye open, glaring at her visitor until she recognized him. "Oh, Adrian," she sighed, massaging her temples, "Didn't expect you to be back so soon."

"No one did," he replied, making sure to keep his voice down. "I was looking to get something specially made for a friend."

"What did you have in mind?" Agnete's eyes slowly adjusted to the light. Dim as it may have been, too much cheap wine could turn sunlight into fire for the eyes.

"I have a friend," the Breton began, taking a short sword from a nearby shelf, "She has a sword, but it's old and much too big for her. I'd hoped to get her something new, something much lighter," he went on, finally setting an Akaviri katana on the counter in front of Agnete. "Something like this."

"I take it not merely any katana will do," she sighed, sensing his order would be difficult and require a lot of heat and hammering and other things that would keep her from drinking.

"I want it to be special. She's a novice, so I want it to be something she can use immediately, but will still be useful as she improves. A katana would be perfect as far as balance, don't you think?"

"Wouldn't it be easier to bring her in?"

"I want this to be a surprise, so we'll have to hope it works out, I suppose. Do you think you can work off that little information?" Adrian stepped in the way of the soft sunlight coming through Agnete's already shielded windows so the Nord could at least look him in the face.

"Yeah," she sighed in reply, lifting one bloodshot eye to the Breton. "one hundred fifty septims. I won't go any lower, that's shaving the price already."

Adrian balked, breath catching in his throat as she stated the price. He let his breath out slowly, hoping Agnete might have been joking, but the constant, unblinking gaze of her forcibly opened eye told him such was not the case.

"All right," he replied at last, nodding slowly. "I'll pay, but only when I see the results and only if they satisfy me."

"Fair enough," Agnete replied, already painfully twisted face tugging into a smile. "So, who's this lady you're surprising?" Before the words were even all the way out of the hungover blacksmith's mouth, her front door slammed closed. She hissed, clapping her hands over her ears to shield them from the noise.

"Bastard!" she spat, leering over at the closed door.

* * *

Adrian cradled the bottle of wine under his arm. Days in a saddle bag hadn't done it any harm, except perhaps warming it a bit. Still, a vintage Surilie was a vintage Surilie. You'd be hard pressed to find anything better in any condition.

He pushed open the door to the West Weald Inn, instantly greeted by a wave from Erina Jeranus from behind the bar. With a smile, he made his way over.

"Erina, it's good to see you," he greeted, keeping the bottle out of sight, lest she take an interest in purchasing it. Imperials seemed to have a natural penchant for persuasion.

"And you, Adrian. I hadn't expected you back so quickly. I trust you're not back for good?" she inquired, giving the Breton a sideways glance.

"Only for a few days. I wanted to ask if Sinderion is in," he moved the conversation along quickly, trying to keep it on point. "I've a request to make of him. He's not out foraging is he?"

"Downstairs as always. Sometimes I dread going down there. He comes up for food so rarely these days, I fear I might find him dead of starvation. Speaking of starvation, you must be famished, a busy young man like yourself. Could I interest you in..."

"Not now, I really have to speak with Sinderion." He turned, walking away at a brisk pace, but then he remembered. "Actually, there is something I need. Does that Nord girl still work for you? The one you hired as a maid?"

"Hilda? Why yes, why do you ask?" The old Imperial woman raised her cultured brows at him.

"I wonder, if I paid you, could you have her and a few others clean the main floor of my home?"

"Of course," Erina replied, leaning her arms on the counter with a warm smile. "The fee for such a request would be...sixty septims. Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

The Breton balked, furrowing his brows as she voiced the price. "Sixty?" he barked, looking around to see a few faces turned in his direction. He lowered his voice. "Sixty's outrageous, even for a house the size of mine," he hissed, somehow knowing the battle would be over before it began.

"I've turned Hilda into something of a side business. These days, you have to reseve her in advance, but since you've been such a good customer over the years, I'll cut you in since she's got an opening in a little while. You _should_ be honored," the old woman scolded, crossing her arms.

"I _will_ be on the streets at this rate."

"_Please_," she scoffed, knowing full well Adrian's loss had presented him with a great deal of material gain in return.

He sighed, paying her incredible fee and rushing quickly off to the cellar before she could offer to sell him anything else for worlds more than it was worth.

He moved quickly to the cellar door, pushing the heavy oaken barrier open. The cellar was dim, but warm and dry. In the corner, settled behind a small table, stood Sinderion. The old Altmer leaned over a alembic, carefully watching a murky green liquid drip down the thin neck of the bottle into a beaker. Adrian watched from the corner, keeping silent as the old master alchemist sniffed briefly over the opening of the glass.

"Still trying to turn iron into gold?" Adrian chuckled. Sinderion's head perked up moments later in a delayed reaction, the mer's bushy, white eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Adrian," he marveled, wincing and placing a palm to his back as he stood straight up. "Why, it's feels like it's been months since I've seen you. I'd heard Serrian asked you to be magister somewhere. Haven't you left yet?"

"It has, and he did" the Breton confirmed, "You haven't been out of this building in quite some time, I take it?"

Sinderion shrugged, reaching up to rub the top of his thinning head. "Erm...perhaps. Care to tell me what time it is?" the alchemist queried.

"It's nearly nightfall," Adrian replied, hoping Adrienne wasn't working Vaera too hard back at the guild hall.

"Nightfall?" Sinderion gaped, taking his turn to furrow his brows. "I'd predicted it was still morning. How time does fly," he murmured, returning his attention to his work. "So, what is it that you need?"

"I have something here. I took it off a Khajiit after he tried to kill me," the Breton stated, pulling the long-untouched bag of white powder out of his pocket.

Without so much as looking up, Sinderion waved the offer away. "I'm afraid I'm very busy these days, Adrian. I simply don't have the time." He crumbled a leaf up in his hand and sprinkled the powder into the beaker, watching idly as the particles fizzled and dissolved.

Adrian nodded, having played the bartering game a few times too many today. He set the bottle of wine down on the table, just hard enough to catch Sinderion's attention.

"What's that?" the old mer asked, leaning forward in an attempt to read the label on the bottle.

"This?" Adrian turned the bottle away. "This is nothing. Wine, that's all."

"I haven't seen a bottle like that in quite some time. Where did you get this?"

"It was a gift. I'm not one to drink wine, but I think you could make excellent use of it," the Breton mentioned non-nonchalantly, playfully turning the bottle back and forth on the stained table top.

Sinderion nodded, knowing exactly where Adrian was headed. "Give me the bag," he said resignedly, holding his hand out. Adrian handed the bag over, and Sinderion took the bottle, setting it aside. He fetched a mortar and pestle, then poured the contents of the bag in. The Altmer gingerly dipped a finger into the powder and tasted it, hummed softly, then toddled over the rack of bottle behind him. He returned with a bottle of ale and uncorked it, pouring the amber contents into the stone bowl. He mixed the powder and ale with the pestle and watched it carefully as it began to bubble, and a strange, caustic smell filled the room. Adrian coughed and covered his mouth, watching as Sinderion nudged the mortar softly, causing some of the foaming mixture to slop onto the table. It hissed as it hit the wood and began to eat into the surface.

"A very strong caustic powder. It takes action when mixed with alcohol and foams slightly, but not so much that it would seem strange in something like cold beer or ale. I've seen things like this before, but never in the hands of someone who wasn't a professional," the Altmer murmured, casting his gaze toward Adrian.

The young Breton simply stood there, mouth agape, unable to believe what he was hearing. Who would want to kill him? He'd done no research that might upset any malevolent forces, so why hire a professional?

"I have to go," the Breton spoke quietly, suddenly feeling he shouldn't leave Vaera on her own for too long. "Keep the bottle." He hurried up the stairs, hearing Sinderion calling after him to keep an eye out, for the love of all the gods. Adrian only hoped he'd know which way to look.


	10. Apprehension

Precisely why every book on the massive shelf _needed_ to be taken off, dusted, and alphabetized eluded the Dunmer, but she got the distinct feeling Adrienne didn't _truly _have a reason for making her do it. Something about the way the middle-aged woman gave her that smirking glare or seemed to gaze down her nose at her, regardless of whether or not she was looking, gave Vaera the striking feeling that Adrienne didn't like her much, for whatever reason. For nearly two hours, Vaera performed the meaningless, seemingly arbitrary task of re-alphabetizing the books in categories according to the school of magic they pertained to.

Vaera attempted to ignore her, choosing instead to focus on how absolutely disgusting she felt. A thin layer of dust had settled in her hair as well as on her face and neck, irritating the skin. Her eyes burned from attempting to wipe dust off of her eyelids, and her nose and mouth seemed constantly annoyed by stray particles, making her cough and sneeze. She blew an annoying strand of hair out of her face, once then again with no success, and finally tucked the strand in with the rest of her hair, which got rather mussed in the couple hours Adrain was away. Her clothes were covered in haze of grimy gray powder. She smelled like the inside of an old book.

"Once you're done there," Adrienne called from the other side of the loft, "I've got a couple small shelves in the basement I wanted to look through. I hope you don't mind the wet, it's been rather dank down there since it flooded a few months ago."

Vaera's lip curled in a rather unladylike sneer, as some rather unladylike things hissed out between her teeth. She felt that maybe, just maybe, she'd have the strength to grab hold of the bookcase and pull it down on top of the hag. Better yet, maybe she could catch her while she wasn't looking and knock her out with a well placed broom stick, then escape before any other mages or the guards took notice. Before she could follow through with any plan of violent action, however, Adrian stepped through the door. She'd never been so relieved to see him.

"Seems you've been having a grand time," Adrian remarked as he ascended the loft. Vaera brushed the front of her shirt, sending plumes of dust toward Adrian, who waved them away.

"Your den mother's been torturing me...with books," the mer growled, her face wound as tight as a drum. "I want to get out of here, Adrian. Right _now_."

The Breton nodded and placed his hands softly on her shoulders. "Sure," he answered quietly, unable to help chuckling a little, but somehow it wasn't a jovial noise. The laughter sounded strained. "Yeah, you look like you could use a drink. How about you go get cleaned up and we'll go somewhere? I'll even pay your tab." He seemed to be rushing her, as if something were about to happen and he didn't want to be around for it.

The mer blinked, shrugging a bit under his touch. "You're being awfully generous. Are you feeling well?"

"I'm sympathetic," he answered, playing her off. "I know how Adrienne can be. Besides, we need to talk, so go clean up. The sooner you do, the sooner we can leave.

Vaera asked no more questions and hurried off to find a basin, while Adrian informed his former mentor he'd be stealing her assistant for the rest of the evening. Adrienne playfully gave him leave, but as Vaera exited behind him, her face now wiped clean, she could feel the older woman's icy stare on the back of her neck.

* * *

The Two Sisters Lodge buzzed with life. Fat, balding men singing songs over their mugs of ale, young, rich men and women toasting over their glasses of wine, and in the loft, above the bustle of the lower floor sat Adrian and Vaera, whispering over an empty table, both far too wary to drink after the news Adrian brought.

"Why would someone hire a professional to kill you?" the mer wondered, furrowing her brows as she mulled it over. "You're not even in a position of power. Not yet, at least."

"I wish to the gods I knew, but your guess is as good as mine." He tapped his fingers softly on the table, looking down at the marred surface of the wood. He shivered as he thought of what the poison had done to Sinderion's table, and what it might have done to him. "I can only hope it was some sort of mistake. Maybe the Khajiit had the wrong person, but I can't imagine a so-called professional assassin making a mistake such as that." The Breton began to wring his hands on the table. Vaera watched for a moment, then stretched a slender arm out to quiet them.

"Relax." She placed her small hand over his own and looked him in the eyes. "No one's going to hurt you. Nothing is going to happen, so stop worrying. Who in their right mind would try to kill you in a place with so many witnesses?"

Adrian shrugged, then nodded, supposing Vaera might be right.

"So, since there's no reason to be afraid, how about a few drinks, hmm?" The mer's eyes twinkled with mischief, in a way Adrian loathed and adored at the same time. Tonight would cost him dearly.

* * *

He knew it to be rude, but he couldn't help but stare. Ralis could be passive about many things, a long career in the arena having given him plenty of experience dealing with odd, even insane characters, but something about the Bosmer sitting there, muttering to herself in such strained, brittle tones simply drew his eye. There she sat, wringing her hands for so long they'd turned an irritated pink, eyes darting around the room while she spoke to herself about subjects Ralis couldn't follow, though not for a lack of trying. She seemed to be switching from imaginary creatures she'd seen in the garden to the lack of birds in the city to Sheogorath knew what else.

The Dunmer forced himself to pry his eyes away from the demented mer and concentrate on his beer. He sipped the head off of the nut brown liquid and found himself thinking of Tarafel. She'd been quick to get to bed, asserting she wasn't interested in what their employers would have to say about a job someone else botched. She'd told him she would find an inn and get to sleep early, as she'd be headed to Bravil in the morning, likely before the sun came up.

She'd told him he could head off on his own and find another job if he so desired, but Ralis tended to muck things up on his own. Assassinations required patience, and Ralis tended to lose that particular quality rather quickly, turning what should have been a subtle, quiet kill into a mess of blood and screaming, fleeing women. More importantly, Tarafel knew the game. Who to talk to, when to talk, where to talk, and where to look when you needed money. She did the talking, he did the chopping, they both got paid, all was right with the world. He would wait, but he hoped her journey would be a short one. The Imperial City offered pleasures in all shapes, sizes, and races, but 'stabbing' women could only entertain him for so long. Then he'd have to sate another form of lust, the kind a man like him could only satisfy with steel and blood. Presently, he only hoped the associates he was supposed to speak with would show soon. He took another sip from his beer and looked idly around the room at the sleepy folk who ambled about in front of the bar.

"What a bunch of sheep," Ralis grumbled, watching the patrons graze about, their eyes sunken and bloodshot. Old men sat around him at tables, quietly passing stories about this and that, while a few young arena hopefuls sat at the bar, talking and laughing quite loudly. The whole place smelled mildly of sweat and cheap alcohol. Not that Ralis minded such things, but after day after day of walking, the only place he wanted to be was in a bed, preferably with a lady. In his present, disheveled state, that wouldn't be likely.

Minutes went by, and finally a pair of women walked in, an Imperial with dark hair tied in a bun and an Argonian with ruddy red scales. Ralis had seen these two once before, but Tarafel had done the talking that time. They recognized him and sat down at his table, rejecting the bartender's offer for drinks.

"Where is the Bosmer?" the Argonian looked around as if expecting to see her.

"Tarafel had important affairs to deal with elsewhere, so I'll be making the deals for now," Ralis replied, folding his large, dirty hands on the table. "I assume you know by now the Khajiit failed and Lenoit is still alive. You could have put us to much better use than mopping up," the Dunmer stated, lifting his eyebrows in an expression of smug dissatisfaction.

"We wanted as little outside interference as possible," the Imperial responded, "The fewer parties who know about this, the better."

"Either way, it doesn't matter. Our sources tell us Lenoit is still on the Gold Road, and we doubt he suspects anything is amiss," the Argonian picked up. She drew a scroll from beneath her gray robes and slid it over the table to Ralis. "Regardless, we're leaving him be for now to concentrate on...other objectives."

Ralis opened the scroll wordlessly and read. "How much?" he queried, looking up for a moment.

"Four hundred per head," the human answered, "But you must follow the directions to a tee, or you get nothing. If you do it right, it will pay over a thousand septims."

Ralis thought for a moment. Tarafel was bound to be gone for at least a few days. He could probably do this job in a day or so, and she'd never be the wiser. Besides, she'd given him permission to take another job, so what was the harm? He chuckled to himself, quite amused by how conveniently the gods had arranged everything.

"Consider it done."

* * *

Adrian's living area seemed to glow, immaculately clean. The two must have barely missed bumping into Hilde and the rest of the housekeepers, which made the Breton quite glad, as he'd been embarrassed to remember exactly how dingy his house had become. During the years after his parents' death, he'd not exactly been enthusiastic about changing the house around. Every time he'd put any effort into cleaning he became discouraged and gave up, memories consistently flowing through his mind as he attempted to tidy up.

The size of the house alone impressed Vaera. It was the second biggest in Skingrad, exceeded only by Rosethorn Hall. She walked around, marveling at the dark red wood of the furniture, the clean granite of the fireplace, and the collection of paintings along the walls. The mer's cheeks were a bit flushed. She'd gone easy on Adrian's pocket book, but still imbibed enough to get her nice and sociable. She'd taken to teasing him in her inebriation, and Adrian pretended to hate it when he actually adored it. Every day he became more enthralled with the Dunmer, and he found himself thinking of her more and more often. He wondered if she'd noticed the way he looked at her when she wasn't looking. But then, what would she want with him? She was beautiful, vivacious, outgoing. Meanwhile, he'd spent the last few years practically barricaded in his home, afraid to have anything resembling a social life. Nine forbid he actually face up to his problems like a man and try to press forward. Hiding was so much easier. Even when he had regularly gone out, the only women who ever spoke to him wanted to be close to his brother, Antony, and nothing more.

Vaera reached behind her head to slowly draw the tie out of her hair. She tossed the ebony locks as they fell about her neck, causing them to splash about her cheeks and eyes. Adrian felt his heart stop as he saw that beautiful mess of black hair, ruby red eyes glowing beneath it like hot embers.

"So, where do I sleep?" The mer inquired,running her fingers through her hair, clearing it away from her face.

_Plenty of room in _my_ bed_. The Breton had to bite back his temptation to let those words fly out, and instead told her she could have the guest room down the hall. She thanked him, warned him not to stay up past his bedtime, and took her leave with a smirk and the briefest hint of a wink. Adrian nearly melted.

As the mer departed, he sighed and turned toward the fireplace. With a brief, silent incantation, he lit the blackened logs, then moved toward the cellar. He opened the door to the dark stairwell, flashing up a light spell as he descended the stairs. The cellar was somewhat cold and dank, a chill ran up Adrian's spine as he took a bottle of mead from the rack. He hadn't been able to stomach the idea of drinking at the inn, but now that he was home, where he knew his alcohol hadn't been tampered with, he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than drink, if only to relax.

He brought the bottle back up the stairs and sat at the table with it. He lifted it briefly to the orange light of the fireplace, half expecting to see sediment floating in the liquid, but there was nothing. Nothing except golden mead. Adrian uncorked the bottle and put it to his lips, filling his mouth with swallows of the cool, sweet alcohol. He drank in silence, slowly, eyes becoming heavy as the past few days began to catch up with him. Before he knew it, the bottle was empty. The Breton stared into its open mouth, mind wandering. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. He'd gone from being a reclusive scholar, to being thrown into the lead of an incredible endeavor. He didn't know where to begin on rebuilding Kvatch, and if he had his way, he'd hand the project over to someone else. He knew Serrian wouldn't change his mind, the stubborn old goat.

Then, of course, there was Vaera. The very last thing he needed, and the only thing he truly wanted. He'd stumbled into her life, and she'd immediately complicated his. If Serrian hadn't sent him on this ridiculous pilgrimage, he'd never have met her and could have gone on by himself. But, he had and she did, and he was so glad.

The Breton stood up, leaving the bottle on the table.

_One more before I sleep._ He started toward the cellar door.

"If you're going to get another one of those," a soft voice came from behind him, "Maybe you could bring one for me."

Adrian turned to see Vaera, hair freshly brushed and pulled back behind her ears, a coy smile gracing her mouth, and dressed in his clothes no less. She'd put on a linen shirt Adrian hadn't worn since he was a teenager. It was a little small, even for someone with such a slender frame. She'd put on a pair of cotton breeches, which she'd cinched tightly around her waist.

"What are you doing up?" Adrian leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her.

"I'm not really tired yet," she shrugged. "Are you going to get the drinks or not?"

The Breton moved down the stairs, stumbling once, and returned with two bottles. He set his on the table and handed the other to Vaera. She uncorked it and took a drink.

"What are _you_ doing up?" she asked, standing to his side as he sat back down.

"Can't relax," he responded, not feeling up to the task of making excuses. "I can't stop thinking. Everything that's happened lately," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Nevermind, it's not important. It's nothing you need to worry about."

Adrian jumped slightly, his shoulders tensing as he felt her hand rest on the nape of his neck. He turned his eyes toward her, trying not to let her see the flush in his cheeks.

"Adrian," she began, sounding slightly apprehensive, "I know we haven't known each other long, but you don't have to be afraid to talk to me."

"I'm not _afraid_," he replied, relaxing under her touch. "I feel you shouldn't be worried about me. You have your own life to lead, you don't need to be weighed down with my problems as well."

The Dunmer rolled her eyes, then gave his arm a tug. "Come on, let's go sit wher it's warm," she insisted. Reluctantly, the Breton rose up and followed her. Vaera sat on a cushioned chair while Adrian settled onto the hardwood bench, both basking in the glow of the fire.

"Are you still worried about the poison you brought to Sinderion?" She understood his worry. It seemed unlikely anyone would go to such great length to kill him. He didn't seem the type to have such bitter enemies.

"I'm worried about a lot of things." His voice held an air of resigned annoyance. "They're my worries, though. They're not yours."

Vaera rolled her eyes, sighing softly through her nose. She spied a book on a nearby shelf, thin and with no title on the binding. "What's this?"

"What's what?" Adrian looked up in time to see the mer beginning to flip through one of the journal's he'd used when he was younger.

"Did you write this?" she laughed, rising up to walk away as the Breton rose.

"Give me that!" he demanded, moving closer as she tried to flee while reading.

The mer snapped her fingers and vanished, hidden by an invisibility spell, a soft giggle marking her disappearance.

"This isn't funny, Vaera," he growled, looking around the room for any sign of her.

"Oh, now this is good," she chuckled, appearing on the other side of the room, "I really like these poems you wrote about Tamika. 'So very sweet, like the reddest wine,'" the mer quoted, backing against the wall as Adrian closed in. She clutched the book to her chest, then held it out so he could grab it. He snatched it up, jaw clenched, and set it back on the shelf. "I take it you won't let me take that into my room?" she teased, following behind him as he walked away, "I sleep so much better after a good read."

The Breton grumbled and took another long drink from his bottle.

"Well, fine, if I can't read that, give me something I _can_ read."

Much to her surprise, Adrian set his bottle down and walked over to the bookshelf. He pulled a book out of the row, causing the rest of the books to lean. "Here," he snapped, handing her the book.

Vaera took the book from him and looked at the cover. "_One Hundred Midnights,_" she read, then looked at Adrian.

"It's a book my mother used to like. She read it more times than I can remember, so I assume it's good." He flopped back onto the bench and looked up at her expectantly. "Why don't you take it back to your room?"

Vaera set the book down in his lap and sat down. "Better yet, why don't you read it to me?" she lifted her eyebrows, smiling at him.

"What, you can't read by yourself?" he sighed, leaning his head back.

"It's been years since I've been read to," she stated matter-of-factly, "I'd like to hear a story, is all."

Adrian sighed, then shook his head. Vaera simply looked back at him, relaxing in the cushioned chair adjacent to his.

"Fine," the Breton grumbled at last, and picked up the book. He began to read, unenthusiastically at first, but with some motivation from Vaera, he began to read with more feeling. Every so often he'd look over at Vaera, making sure she was still paying attention. She'd simply smile, waving him on. He read on, flowery prose flowing from his mouth. He enjoyed it more than he cared to admit.

For several minutes he read, not bothering to look up at Vaera. When he finally did, her head had drifted to the side. She slept soundly, chest rising high and falling slowly with deep, easy breaths. Adrian set the book down, rising to take a blanket from next to the hearth. He shook it out softly, then gently covered the Dunmer. He looked down at her for a moment, observing her countenance, the soft flutter of her closed eyes, the way she parted her lips then closed them, as if speaking to someone. She was dreaming, perhaps continuing the story in her sleep.

_Maybe,_ the Breton mused, _maybe she's dreaming of me._

"Yeah," he grumbled, disapproving his own imaginings, "And maybe I'll be the next emporer."

He turned toward the stairs, shuffling up to his room. Despite the hour, and all the day's happenings, it took him too long to get to sleep.


	11. Primrose

The early morning greeted Tarafel pleasantly, translucent clouds illuminated by a sky full of brilliant orange and red sunlight. The wind was unseasonably warm, as the beginning of Hearthfire usually brought a chill to the air. Tarafel found it rather pleasant, though. Truth be told, she found her mood to be changing, if only slightly. Things seemed a bit brighter, a bit warmer. She looked upon the world and was actually tempted to smile. She didn't but for the first time in a long time, she saw reason to.

This change in mood seemed to directly correlate with how far she got from the Imperial City, Ralis, who'd never returned from meeting the associates the previous night, and all of her responsibilities. Weight seemed to be lifting off of her shoulders and dissipating into the air, easing her step, allowing her to go faster. Of course, she'd also taken off her armor, replacing it with some peasant garb, so that may have lightened her load. She never left her leather behind, no matter where she went, and would take some time to repair the material, which had started to crack and wear through in spots. Not surprising, it was old armor. It had seen a lot of travel, a lot of death, but this little jaunt would be a chance to repair and renew.

Tarafel's imagination wandered as she walked, always coming back to her work, another thing she could never leave behind, regardless of how much she might want to. Her thought turned over and over in her head, refusing to sit still. This restlessness of the mind was becoming a common state, the Bosmer's brain refusing to settle ever since they'd been given the job of cleaning up after that imbecilic Khajiit.

The Bosmer shook such thoughts away, feeling it better to save them for later. It was turning into a pleasant day along the Greed Road. She observed her surroundings, taking note of the flax, growing sparse as the weather grew colder, and the amanita, which still held out. Tarafel stopped and knelt in the grass next to the spot-capped fungus. She ran her fingers over the textured cap before picking a small one and lifting it to her nose. She breathed in the moist, musky scent of the mushroom, then took a small bite. She rolled the chunk over her tongue, savoring the bittersweet flavor. Nodding, she slid her pack off her back and began to harvest a few of the caps, slipping them into a special pocket she'd sewn in specifically for drying mushrooms. She dug out what was left of a nearby group of flax blooms and took the seeds, which she set aside in another pocket.

In the distance, Tarafel spied a few yellow and red blooms. She moved closer and saw it to be ginseng, a rather rare flora, especially in the center of Cyrodiil. The Bosmer knelt down again, plucking a leaf from the plant and rolling it between her fingers before bringing it to her nose, taking in the soft, refreshing scent of the herb. She placed the bruised leaf on her tongue, then pressed it to the roof of her mouth. She plucked a few handfuls of leaves and tucked them into her bag.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a small, pink bloom on a stone only a few yards away. She looked at it for a few moments, rising to a crouch and creeping closer, as if the flower might run if startled. She settled in next to the rock, raising a hand to the flower and running her slender fingers over the soft, light pink petals. She placed her fingers at the base of the bloom and plucked it, a perfectly open young blossom, its short life unmarred by weather and time. Tarafel placed her short nose amongst the petals, breathing deeply of the flower's subtle perfume. A hundred million memories flooded her head, so many brief glimpses of images. Valenwood, Leyawiin, Bravil, Skingrad, Morrowind, Skyrim. All the places she'd been, the people she'd killed, the partners she'd had. Through it all, despite the brutal effectiveness of nightshade, the debilitating effects of monkshood, or the horrid result of the proper use of daedra venin, the primrose remained her favorite plant. Not for any alchemical use, simply because it was pretty.

Tarafel looked around, as if someone might be spying on her during her intimate moment. When she assured herself that nothing and no one lurked nearby, she pushed her hair away from her forehead and slid the stem of the primrose into her hair, then let it the hair fall back around it. She took the polished silver dagger from her pocket and angled the side of the blade toward her face. In the pristine surface of the blade, she could see the bright flower, with its robust green and vibrant pink, stand out in stark contrast to her visage. In comparison, she was gray.

"It wasn't always so," the Bosmer muttered, shaking her head. With a twist of her wrist, she faced the mirrored metal of the blade toward her eyes. They'd darkened in the sockets, and small lines were beginning to form in the corners. It seemed like such a short time ago she'd been a young Bosmer, and technically, she was still young by the standards of mer. That state of carefree youth hadn't been ten or twenty years prior, but over one hundred years, longer than the lifetime of the longest lived men.

She took to her feet again, and walked onward down the road. The flower stayed in her hair.

* * *

As Tarafel walked miles down the road, the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky, the day growing warmer, the wind calming. She planned to stay the night at the Faregyll Inn, a place she'd stayed many times while traveling to the south. Tarafel knew the proprietor, Abhuki, quite well, and she didn't so much mind the company of the other Khajiit who frequented the inn, S'jirra, even though that one could go on and on about the strangest things.

Up ahead, she could see a pair of men standing in the road. They were dressed in peasant garb, and purposely standing in her path, looking directly towards her. One looked like an Imperial, far too tan to be a Breton, and the other was most certainly a Redguard. Years of travel and mixing with unsavory characters had given Tarafel a sixth sense about people, an ability to tell when they were looking to brew up trouble. These two had the exact air of those who wanted something from her. They looked common enough at first glance, but as the Bosmer moved in closer, she could see odd scars on either side of the Imperial's lips, like he'd had a smile carved into his face. They were old scars, and had clearly healed well, but still very visible. The Redguard didn't have any scars, at least not any which were visible, but Tarafel could see hint of dark tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt. The only men she'd ever know to have tattoos were pirates, bandits, and mercenaries, never farmers.

"Greetings, Bosmer," the Imperial spoke up, his voice deep and robust, "We're in a bit of a spot, my friend and I. We're wondering if you might be able to help."

Tarafel stopped in her tracks and looked the over a moment longer before giving her reply.

"What sort of help do you need?" she asked, her voice soft, but still its usual monotone.

"You see, we're poor," the Imperial went on, "Without even one septim, in fact." He lowered his head and shook it slowly,

"We live on the _charity_ of generous souls, such as yourself," the Redguard cut in, grinning a little too wide.

"Who told you I'm charitable?" Tarafel could hear the soft footsteps of two more creeping up from behind her in the grass. One was very light of foot, a Khajiit. The other had a heavier gate, and even one without trained ears could recognize the soft huffs of an Orcish nose.

"Why, we did," the Imperial answered, walking toward her side by side with the Redguard.

"You don't want to do this," Tarafel stated, drawing her bow and an arrow from her back, knocking the shaft in to place. She took the Orc first. Doing a quick about-face, she let an arrow fly and struck the beast right through the eye. The tip of the arrow cracked right through the back of his thick skull at such a close range. She dropped her bow as the Khajiit started to strike, and drew the silver dagger from her belt. The Bosmer took a lunging step forward, dropping to a kneel as she came just within reach of her attacker's claws. Her arms shot out straight, both hands grasping the handle, and drove the blade into the Khajiit's unarmored chest, right beneath the V of his ribcage.

Without a second thought, she drew the dagger out and whirled around to face the last two. She ran forward and pounced upon the Redguard, jumping high enough she could have easily cleared the top of his head. Instead, she caught her thighs around either side of his neck, twisting her body to the side as she brought him down, the sheer force snapping the man's neck.

The fall dazed her, giving the Imperial the chance he needed. As she attempted to rise, stars burst in her eyes, a heavy blow coming down on the back of her neck, dropping her flat on her chest.

"Bosmer bitch," he spat, bringing more blows down on her back. "We were going to let you go after we were done with you." Each word brought a fresh blow from his hardwood club, his attacks slowly moving from her neck down her back. Finally he halted, out of breath as he stood over her battered form. The Imperial cast his gaze down toward his former partner, the Redguard's neck twisted from the break. "Sad, but what a way to go," the man grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth, "Face between such a _fine_ pair of legs." He reached toward Tarafel's motionless form and gripped a now bloodied lock of her hair.

With a speed he'd never encountered, the Bosmer struck, whirling about with all the speed of a serpent even injured as she was. The Imperial recoiled, drawing his hand back as the tip of the dart plunged through the flesh of his palm, breaking through to the other side. He howled like an animal, pulling the dart out and casting it aside. His palm began to burn, as if quite literally engulfed in flame.

"What have you done to me?" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he looked down in horror at the beaten, but non-plussed Bosmer in the grass. Under the skin of his arm, red lines began to form, his veins inflaming with the poison Tarafel had coated the dart with. The Imperial, his body now slicked with sick sweat, marveled at the relief map spreading up his arm, veins bulging and bursting beneath his skin. All the muscles stiffened and locked, sending him spiraling into a realm of pain so intense, he was literally blinded. When it was all over, his teeth were cracked from the intensity with which his jaw had clenched, his eyes dripped with the blood of burst vessels.

Tarafel left him long before it all ended, retreating behind a group of shrubs where she could kneel in a world of pain all her own, having scooped up her broken primrose. She removed her shirt and pack, which now contained mostly ruined ingredients, and a partially destroyed mortar. She could feel how black and blue he'd made her back, and went to work with the largest portion of mortar she had left, mixing dried cairn bolete powder with the one remaining vial of lichor she had, then grinding in lotus seeds. She dipped two fingers into the mushy mixture, the beginning of an agonizing process. She rubbed the glops of healing mixture all over her back, covering as much of the warm, injured areas as best she could. She covered everything except the very center, which she couldn't quite reach.

After administering her tincture, she turned her attentions to the primose, lifting it gently in both hands. Most of the petals had fallen off, and a small spatter of blood covered the few remaining. Tarafel pressed her nose into the center of the destroyed flower, inhaling gently, but this time she could only smell the blood and the wet smell of destroyed flora. The Bosmer pushed her cupped hands into the branches of an adjacent bush, setting the bloom down there. She let herself fall forward, resting shirtless in the cool grass.

Moments passed, a warm tickle ran down her cheek. Gingerly, she moved her arm up and touched her face. A drop, but not blood. A tear.

_A tear?_

"Strange," she muttered, even speaking brought pain. "I'm not sad. Not in the least." Turning as slightly as she could, she grabbed the broken portion of mortar she'd prepared her healing potion in and began scooping the bitter mush into her mouth, cringing as she swallowed, but she ate every remaining drop before laying back down.

Hours passed before she could rise again.


	12. A Cold Wind

_Author's Note: Yes, it's been forever since I updated. A slew of computer troubles, final exams, and other junk came crashing down on me in a giant wave of IRL. I'll try to update more regularly. Please enjoy. :)_

* * *

By the time Ralis awoke, Tarafel was long gone. She'd left no note, nor had she told him where she planned to go, but simply up and vanished into a farther reach of Nirn. Obviously she meant it to be a long trip, as she'd taken her every possession with her, though Ralis couldn't venture exactly how long it might be. It was always some sort of mystery with that woman; she could never come right out and say what she meant.

Ralis smiled to himself. "Ah, but isn't that so with all women?"

The mer chuckled, breathing deeply the late morning air. The Heartland was a beautiful place, especially at the beginning of Hearthfire. The rolling hills all around were turning from vibrant green to rustic gold, the water of Lake Rumare was cold and refreshing when splashed on the face, the air grew crisp, somehow fresher than the hot winds of the summer. All around in the distance the crumbled remains of forts and the eroding ruins of Ayleid palaces dotted the landscape. Monolithic memorials to the failed efforts of weaker men.

Again, Ralis smiled to himself. "They certainly weren't Ralis Senathis, were they?" he chortled, drawing his sword from its scabbard and swinging it jestingly from side to side. "Thought you could best me, did you?" he laughed triumphantly at an imaginary enemy, slaying his foe with one firm stab into the middle of the air. He put his blade away, grinning at his own silliness as he walked on. "Ralis Senathis, champion of The Arena, master of combat both armed and magical, ravisher of young, beautiful women, wealthy heir to his father's estate. I dare say, a god among men and mer. A Dunmer who lacks nothing, but still has the audacity to crave everything! And why not? He deserves, nay, is _entitled_ to everything his heart desires, because he is a mer with the power to take it!" He tossed his head, fixing his long, charcoal color hair with a short length of twine.

He redrew his sword, taking a moment to appreciate the cold steel of the blade. He'd commissioned it long ago on a visit to High Rock, a longsword crafted by Orcish hands and enchanted with Breton magic to cut through any sort of armor. Thronebreaker, the sword he'd intended to use to slay The Gray Prince. At least, until the half-Orc decided to disappear to Azura-knows-where, and leave his title unclaimed. Ralis grumbled to himself, hand clenching painfully around the hilt of the blade. After that day, he swore he'd never let another opportunity slip through his fingers.

Ralis unclenched the sword, and slid it back into its scabbard. He quieted himself, relaxing as he walked. It felt good to have all his armor off for once. It seemed like weeks since he'd shed it all to do anything but sleep or bathe, but now he walked unfettered. He wore comfortable clothes, never having much tastes for any sort of silken finery; he preferred normal peasant garb. Besides, all that colorful silk and satin made him look like a bit of a dandy.

His only regret was that he had no horse for the long trip north. His independent assignment required him to make a long journey north into the cold, mountainous county of Bruma. The idea of cold didn't bother him much, but the distance definitely did. Nearly two days of virtually non-stop walking in Tarafel's footsteps from Colovia to the Imperial City had made the mere thought of walking another long distance rather unappetizing. Sighing, he fixed his eyes to the mirror-like surface of the Rumare, catching sight of the occasional shadow of movement beneath the surface of the water. The slaughterfish were out and about, it seemed. The mer veered from the stone path toward the sandy bank of the Rumare, sending mudcrabs scuttling out of his way, gurgling as they retreated to the safety of the rocks.

Ralis gazed into the water. Long, sinewy shadows glided through the depths, dingy brownish scales breaking the surface every now and then. The mer nodded, a smile crossing his sharply-featured visage. He began to undress, removing his pack, shirt, and boots. From the pack, he drew a dagger and tucked it under his belt. A chill rushed up the mer's spine as he waded into the cold water. Instead of relying on breath, he cast a water breathing spell on himself and dove under. He swam further into the lake, heading toward the sandy floor where the slaughterfish generally fed. He reckoned it wouldn't take long for the aggressive little creatures to take note of him and come in for a bite.

Right on cue, one of the ugly creatures began swimming toward him. A small one, it clacked its sharp-toothed jaws as it came closer, hoping to grab a bite. Instead, the mer attempted to grab the fish, but to little avail. The fish darted away at the mere brush of his fingertips and vanished into the murk of the lake water. A gurgled curse escaped him, and he swam after the fish.

As he dived deeper the water grew harder and harder to see through, the world around him turning a dingy blue. In the dinge, just a few feet in front of his face, he spotted a shadow. With all the speed he could muster in the stifling water, Ralis reached out and snatched the fish. At first he barely had it by its fin, but he brought his other hand up to grasp it about the middle. The slaughterfish began to thrash, kicking up even more algae and dirt into the water, effectively blinding the mer. Ralis' now free right hand grabbed for the knife under his belt and drove the blade into the fish, right below the gill.

The slaughterfish's struggling slowed, the creature keeping its fight right until the end. As Ralis fumbled to secure the knife back under his belt without impaling himself, a horrible burning pain flared up in his shoulder. The mer growled, a response that would have earner him a lungful of water had he not enchanted himself. He reflexively struck at his shoulder, the shock causing him to drop the knife, the blade forever lost to the waters of the Rumare. Another slaughterfish had latched onto his shoulder and was chewing up the flesh there. Unwilling to give up his first catch, Ralis simply squeezed the creature, digging his thick fingers into it's eyes and gills. In death, the creature latched on even harder, and the mer simply ripped it away from his flesh, nearly twisting its head off and leaving a few fangs buried in the rippled brawn of his shoulder.

Feeling the need for breath returning, Ralis swam upward, for the undulating surface of the water. He broke through to the cool air, gulping up air as the spell wore off and required him to breathe again. His knife was lost, but he'd earned a decent dinner, with his bare hands, no less! Ralis kicked his way to shore, slaughterfish in hand.

As he stood up, again sending curious mudcrabs scuttling away, he looked at the fish in each hand, healthy specimens both. He'd eat well this evening, even if the fish went bad. He'd hardened his constitution so he could stomach such things without illness. After securing his meal in a separate pouch, along with a healthy dose of salt he'd borrowed from Tarafel, he set off again, eyes turned to the north and the prize that awaited a job well done.

* * *

The air grew colder little by little as Ralis made his way up Cyrodiil's hills into the Jerall Mountains. He left his shirt unbuttoned for a time, at first enjoying the briskness of the air, but quickly buttoned up as the ground turned from grass into frost.

The walk around the Red Ring Road up the Silver Road had proven to be harder on his feet than he'd first predicted, but he could take the pain, and had stamina to spare. The mer walked on, grunting as he made his way up an incline. His stomach had begun rumbling hours before, but it was far too early for him to rest and eat, at least not if he wanted to be in Bruma before nightfall. However, the proposition of a full stomach seemed more tempting by the step.

Ralis strove to ignore the growling of his own gut for as long as he could, but finally he decided it was time to settle down for a few hours as soon as he found a flat enough area to sit. He walked towards a group of nearby trees and rested against one, sliding down to the cold frost. He sighed, not exactly looking forward to the task of building a fire, but he couldn't eat the fish raw. At least, he preferred not to do so. Sighing again, he slid his pack off and rose to his feet in search of firewood. Hopefully, he'd find a downed tree or some loose branches on the ground. Then, of course, there was the task of finding stones to keep the fire from burning the ground around it. All a little more work than he was ready to do at the moment. Too tedious, and not nearly exciting enough, particularly since as the night drew closer, the air grew colder.

Nearly half an hour of searching and working granted him a handful of small logs suitable for burning. Now, he needed only to gather up stones, which were abundant this close to the mountains. Lighting a fire would require no more than

a wave of his hand.

He'd almost returned to his would-be campsite, when he picked up a soft noise, barely audible over the wind. Then another, a musical sound.

_Laughter?_

Not just laughter, _female_ laughter. There were women nearby!

Ralis perked up, in more ways than one, and thanked the ancestors for his reliable stamina. Hopefully, he'd make good use of it before the night ended!

He listened carefully, moving toward the sound, logs under one arm. A sweet, smoky aroma filled the air. Something was roasting. Closer and closer he crept until he came upon a wall of brush. Through the leaves an orange light flickered, Ralis could clearly hear their conversation, but paid little attention. Peeking over it, he caught sight of two women and a large tent. One was a Nord, obviously young, but tall and blonde as any of her lineage. She sat by a fire, dressed in less than Ralis himself, smiling at her friend across the way. The other was a Bosmer, if her substantially smaller stature could attest to anything. She had a bob of short brown hair and dressed in much thicker clothing, bearskin or something of the like. Both were young, supple creatures, and not hard on the eyes, either.

Finished with his peeking, Ralis stood up, hands on hips.

"Good evening to you," he spoke loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to be intrusive.

The women turned toward him in surprise, the Nord's hand disappearing behind her, likely to grab for a weapon. Ralis simply stood by, giving his best winning smile. The ladies' faces softened and they exchanged glances and brief whispers before turning back toward him, each bearing a soft smile.

"Evening, Dunmer," the Nord replied, her smile was shadowy, obviously hiding some sort of intent. "What, may I ask, are you doing lurking behind the bushes?" she asked, causing the Bosmer to giggle and cup her hands over her mouth. She briefly turned toward her much smaller friend. "I think we have a peeping tom on our hands, Azzy." She turned back to Ralis, eyes already beckoning. "What say you, Dunmer? Hoping to see some flesh this evening?"

"Ah, you've found me out!" Ralis lamented melodramatically, stepping through the brush. "It's true. I'm an agent of Sanguine, sent out to find succulent young maidens to seduce and bring back to our coven," he chuckled, putting up the best of his good-natured charm. "But no, I'm simply a hunter. I heard your voices, and gentleman that I am, thought I'd offer any aid you might need." He turned from the Nord to the Bosmer and met her eyes for a moment. He winked quickly, as if they'd just shared a secret, and the young mer giggled again, her laughter growing harder to contain as the handsome mer she'd just met moved closer. "I hope I haven't intruded?"

"Not at all," the Nord cut in, giving the Bosmer a slightly chastising glance. "We've settled in for supper, but there's plenty if you've time to join us." She gestured to the boar roasting over the fire. Along side that, a small case filled with eight bottles of ale.

"I don't want to impose, but how can I resist such a...tempting offer?" He raised his brows at the Nord, who patted the space beside her. Ralis obliged, sitting so close her breast brushed his side.

The Nord reached across his lap, purposely letting herself hover over his lap, and pulled a bottle of ale out of the case. She placed it in his lap, letting the bottle jut up from between his thighs suggestively, causing another stifled shock of laughter from the Bosmer.

Ralis slid the bottle from where the Nord had nestled it and took a drink, casting another wink in the Bosmer's direction. By then he could feel the Nord's hand creeping along his back, her finger drawing tiny circles against his shirt. "So, I heard your name is Azzy," he nodded toward the Wood Elf, but I didn't catch yours." He smiled at the Nord, giving her a suggestive look of his own. "But I've been rude. I should introduce myself first. I'm Ralis Senathis. It's a real pleasure to meet both of you," he practically growled the word 'pleasure', getting a giggle out of both of them.

"I'm Ula," the Nord responded, "And that's Asmira. We're on our way to the Imperial City to see about getting Azzy a dress." Ula smiled across the fire at Asmira, beckoning her over with one finger. The Bosmer rose and moved across to sit beside Ula, her eyes darting between Ralis and her own feet.

"All the way to the Imperial City for a _dress_?" Ralis balked. Women certainly could find the most fantastic ways to waste money, couldn't they?

"Yes, we're going to Divine Elegance. We're not going to spare any expense for this dress. After all, it'll be the last one little Azzy wears as a free woman." Azzy snickered at her friend's jest.

"A wedding dress then?" The pair nodded in response. "Congratulations," the Dunmer raised his bottle, pulling another out of the case for the Bosmer. "Drink up, then. You might never get another chance to do it, especially not with another man."

The pair laughed. "That's sort of why we're going like this. We decided to make an adventure of it. Azzy's been rather chaste so far, but I'm trying to get her to act out. It's not like she'll ever get another chance."

"Perhaps I could be of some help there. I can be quite...convincing when I put my mind to it." He slid his arm behind Ula's back and over to Asmira, running a finger up her side. The Bosmer shrieked, letting out another loud giggle.

"I can't, I can't!" she protested, leaning away from him, her face turning bright pink in the light of the fire.

"I've not been able to get her to loosen up," Ula chuckled, gently nudging her friend with her elbow. "It's probably just as well. I don't need her hanging any guilt over my head for talking her into debauchery," the Nord said, turning her eyes toward Ralis' face, and sending her hands somewhere else entirely, much to Ralis' delight. "However, I'm not one for fidelity. Asmira and I travel together a lot, so she's used to my 'long nights'."

"That's quite an offer," the Dunmer chortled, looking the two over, "But I'm afraid one woman simply isn't enough to satisfy me tonight."

Ula paused for but a moment, not letting her smile falter. "I'm afraid you'll have to go without tonight, Ralis. It's me or nothing," her face hardened, showing she meant business.

Ralis brushed the look aside, reaching out to grab Asmira's arm and pull her close. "Nonsense. What's a little infidelity between new friends, hm?"

The sound of Ula's slap rang out across the valley. The Dunmer reeled from the impact, releasing Asmira's arm. When he looked up, the pair had backed away from him, and Ula had brandished her longsword.

Ralis rose, still smiling. "Now, that wasn't very kind of you. I suppose I can find it in myself to forgive you, but you'll have to put your toy down first." With a wave of his hand, Ralis tugged the sword away from Ula and cast it down the hill. Telekinesis, useless as it seemed to be, did turn out to have its purposes.

Ula and Asmira ran down the hill. Ula would be easy enough to track, but even the dimmest of Bosmer could disappear into the forest. Asmira could seek out help if he lost her, most likely in Bruma, which might ruin his mission. He'd need something fast.

The clannfear appeared in a flash of malicious crimson. Ralis wasted no time in grasping the beast by the beak, forcing it to face him.

"Sniff out the Bosmer. Find her. _Don't_ kill her," he commanded, then released the beast. The clannfear shook it's head, giving its master a wide berth. It lifted its head, craning its long neck as it sniffed the air, then suddenly took off after its quarry.

Ralis smiled, having kept watch on Ula as she ran.

"Gods, I love it when they run." He set off after her, the sudden rush of excitement warming his flesh.

Bruma could wait. The job would still be there in the morning. Besides, if he let them get away now they might just run to the safety of those walls and alert the city guard. Letting that happen would mean he'd have no way of entering Bruma without notice and his task would be forfeit. The women would need to be silenced. He'd take his time, of course. Two subdued young ladies? He most certainly couldn't let an opportunity like _that_ pass him by.


	13. Enchantment

_Author's Note: Just wanted to apologize to any readers who are disappointed in my very slow updating. I'm trying to make more time for this sort of thing these days._

* * *

Vaera awoke, her neck somewhat stiff from the odd sleeping position, but otherwise fine and refreshed. The sun shone in from the frosted windows, casting warm orange light around Adrian's sitting room, making her squint when she tried to open her eyes. She rose from the cushioned chair, stretching as she padded toward the kitchen.

"Finally awake I see," The Breton noted without looking up from the sheet of fresh parchment on the table in front of him. He'd changed into a set of comfortable looking cotton pants and a shirt of the same material. Next to the sheets of paper was a small gunny sack, the strings drawn tightly. "Hope you weren't too uncomfortable. I would have moved you, but..."

"It's fine," the mer grinned sleepily, taking a seat across from him, "The chair was pretty comfortable." She reached over to pick up the gunny sack, slowly drawing it open. "What's in here?"

"The powder I picked up after that Khajiit attacked me in Anvil. I took it to a friend of mine yesterday while I was out so he could examine it, and he brought it back a short while ago. Turns out it's a powerful poison," he replied nonchalantly, smiling as the mer immediately dropped the bag back onto the table as though it were poisonous to the touch.

"And you happen to have it sitting out on the breakfast table as if it were powdered sugar?" Vaera asked, brows furrowed and eyes widened. "Shouldn't this be put in a lock box," she balked, "or at the very least on a high shelf?"

"It's not dangerous unless mixed with something alcoholic. Sinderion must have spent all night trying to figure out what it was. He says it's called Brewer's Venom," the Breton pronounced, running his fingertip along the word as he read it off. "Apparently, it was developed by assassins in Skyrim for poisoning the drinks of their targets. The recipe is incredibly hard to find, and it takes weeks for all the ingredients to properly synthesize. In his expert opinion, this could only be made by an alchemist of considerable skill and experience who specialized in making poisons for assassination, and he swears upon the sweetest of Sanguine's wines he's never made any."

Adrian rose from his chair with a sigh, tucking the letter back into its envelope.

"Is there any chance he's wrong about what it is?" Vaera asked, rising from the table, moving closer to Adrian' side.

Adrian shook his head, still looking at the envelope in his hand. "No," he replied flatly, flicking the envelope onto the table.

"Are you worried?" She felt stupid for asking. Of course he was worried, the only question was how worried did he need to be.

"I'm trying not to be," he replied, looking toward her. "I'm not afraid of anyone coming here, if that's what you mean. If whoever was after me in Anvil really wanted to hurt me, they could have done it quite easily while we were on the road. The assassin at the Count's Arms hardly seemed professional," Adrian pondered, ambling slowly about the kitchen. "I'd venture that if I'm on anyone's list, I'm fairly far from the top."

Vaera nodded, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Still, maybe we should stay together from now on. Safety in numbers, you know?"

"What? Worried they'll mistake you for me?" The Breton scoffed an annoyed but good-natured noise.

"I'm saying you need someone to watch your ass," she smirked, nudging an elbow into his side as she walked past him toward the sitting room. "If I remember correctly, I drove off the Khajiit in Anvil while you were flat on your back."

Adrian's mouth tightened, then released, and he smiled in return. "Really? And where were those battle tested reflexes when Bjalk the Bear Slayer attacked?"

It was the mer's turn to be taken aback. She blinked, her smirk melting instantly. It was the first time the Breton had truly retaliated to one of her quips.

"Nothing else to say?" Adrian smiled softly in his triumph, annoying Vaera to the point of rolling her eyes. She merely grunted in return. "Good. I was thinking we'd continue your training with a blade this morning. What do you say to that?"

Vaera merely shrugged, crossing her arms. "Are the blades as sharp as your wit this morning?" she queried, narrowing her eyes at him, her voice ice cold.

Adrian merely smiled and moved upstairs to fetch their equipment. Vaera watched him ascend the steps, scarcely realizing she was smiling. She spoke up again as the Breton descended the steps. "Do you remember which lesson we stopped with?"

"I believe we stopped at striking and thrusting," the Breton replied, lugging down a pair of short swords.

"You only wish," Vaera chuckled under her breath, eyeing the Breton's back as he walked past.

"What was that?" He turned his head over the bundle of armor he held in his arms.

"I said 'I thought so'," she replied, smiling sweetly.

Adrian grumbled quietly, cocking a suspicious brow at her serene expression as he opened the front door. "After you, then."

The air outside was still held a pleasant coolness left over from the night. The heavenly aromas of baking breads and evaporating dew mixed in the morning light, giving Adrian good reason to breathe deeply. It did for a moment, anyway, as Vaera not-so-gently nudged him out of the doorway so she could step out.

"Striking and thrusting then?" she asked, taking one of the swords from his arms, walking around to the back lot of Adrian's home.

"Right," he replied, readying his own blade, "Ready when you are." The Breton raised his blade to the defensive position, fully prepared for Vaera's strike. The mer took a few more moments to mentally prepare herself, looking Adrian in the eyes, not letting her gaze break away from his. They stayed that way for what seemed like many minutes, until finally Vaera struck out at him. Adrian blocked the attack easily, though not as easily as their previous sessions. This was partially due to Vaera's increasing skill with a blade. That he got so easily lost in those brilliant crimson eyes, like staring into vibrant, smoldering embers, accounted for the rest of his distraction. He recovered, parrying each strike and thrust, countering when she made the mistake of leaving herself open.

"You have to recover faster," he growled, swinging his sword powerfully enough to knock Vaera's blade from her hand. The dull length of steel twisted through the air and landed off in the grass near the low stone wall that separated the neighboring lots. "And keep a tighter grip on your blade." Adrian made an impatient gesture toward the wall, and the Dunmer skulked off to recover her weapon. As she returned, blade in hand, she took the tie from her hair and shook it loose, straight, immaculately smooth locks of spun onyx hanging about her neck and shoulders, clinging to the beads of sweat on her dusky skin.

"Ready?" Adrian moved back into attack position, watching Vaera over the edge of his blade, keeping his eyes away from her eyes and the other pleasant distractions on her face. This time he moved first, scarcely waiting for her to raise her blade. She blocked, shifting herself out of his path before striking back. He blocked and locked with her, his blade pressing into her own, the metal scraping together as they tried to force their will upon one another.

The mer was stronger than she looked, and Adrian had to put more force behind his blade than he'd planned to keep her from upsetting his footing. His eyes drifted instinctively toward hers, then away. They finally settled on her mouth, which was still rather distracting, but not so much as her eyes. The Breton prepared to back away when her lips began to move. Slowly, Vaera's mouth formed soft, voiceless words. The Breton struggled to make out what she was whispering, but the movements of her lips were too subtle for him to follow.

Then, without warning, her felt her fingers pressing against the hand on the hilt of his blade. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to. His body was frozen in place, all outside feelings and thoughts immediately disappeared and he could only look at Vaera's face, could only feel her fingers on his hand, then even that sensation faded. Her lips pulled into a serene smile, and the hand that had rested on his own moved to his chest. She applied gentle pressure, sending the Breton tumbling onto his back, stiff as a statue. Moments later, he regained control of his limbs and looked indignantly up at her.

"We've not gotten to mixing magic and swordplay yet," he grumbled, brushing some grass off of himself as he stood up.

"I know," she lilted in return, holding back good natured laughter, "But I thought I'd see if I couldn't catch you off guard. You're so easy to distract, and paralysis always has such entertaining effects."

Adrian rolled his eyes, rising to his feet and readying himself again. As Vaera prepared herself, he lashed out, striking her blade with as much force as he could muster and knocking it from her hands again. It landed in the grass not far away, Adrian again gesturing to it. Vaera rolled her eyes, sighing as she turned and knelt down to retrieve it.

The blade suddenly skittered away, rolling through the lush green of the grass. With a soft sound of surprise, Vaera stumbled forward, chasing after it. It slid away a few more feet, bumping over a few stones and turning as it rolled. Some moments later, Vaera managed to catch it. The blade had stopped as it skittered into the side of the well. She rose up quickly, preparing to turn around and call the Breton on his use of telekinesis. The mer felt a flash of pain, however, as her head thumped into something solid. She cursed loudly, clamping one eye closed, pressing her palm to the bumped part of her head as she stumbled back and away from the awning over the well. Behind her, the Breton laughed heartily, doubling over with his hands on his knees. Scowling, Vaera whirled around and struck him with a brief silence spell. The Breton balked for a few moments, his laughter not dissuaded by Vaera's spell. He recovered his voice a few moments later, coughing out the last of his laughter.

"I thought we weren't on magic yet?" the mer asks, unable to stave off the smile creeping onto her face.

"Turnabout is fair play," Adrian shot back, facetious grin on his face.

The mer rose to her feet, stumbling toward him, arm outstretched and a spell glowing at the ends of her slender fingers. Adrian jumped out of the way, sending Vaera sprawling. The pair laughed at one another, and the Breton reached down, helping the mer to her feet.

They looked at each other for a few moments, eyes unknowingly locked, hands still cupped together. They warmly regarded each other for what seemed like a very long time. Their eternity was short lived, interrupted by a gruff, female voice.

"I don't mean to get in the way of whatever..._this _is," murmured a surprisingly sober Agnete, "But I wanted to tell you, I've finished your order, Adrian."

"Huh? Already?" the Breton stammered, not having expected the smith to finish so quickly. "All right then, let's go get it."

He turned toward a confused Vaera, releasing her hand in a brief panic. "I think you'll want to come with me."

* * *

Vaera watched Adrian curiously, one eyebrow raised as she followed him down the narrow streets of Skingrad, the sun yet to fully rise of the tall, stone shops and houses on either side of them.

"What's all this about?" she asked at last, her curiosity getting the better of her. She didn't know what Adrian had up his sleeve, but she didn't exactly trust him. Something about how all of this was happening so suddenly.

Then again, the bump to her head might have clouded her judgment somewhat.

"It's a surprise," Adrian replied, his voice softly echoing between the dual rows of buildings. "Believe me, you won't be disappointed."

Vaera rolled her eyes, following in annoyed silence as they made their way down the cobblestone street to Agnete's shop. Inside, the shop dark, save for the light of a single candle. The windows were shuttered from the outside so they let in as little light as possible. The whole place smelled of sulfur and stale alcohol. A soft warmth emanated from the other side of the shop where the forge sat, glowing a comforting orange. It had been recently used.

"It took me nearly all night," Agnete muttered, "But I finished it. Some of my finest, fastest work, and well worth the money."

Adrian fidgeted, not knowing if Vaera would be put off by how much he spent. He looked tentatively toward Vaera, who only looked back, clearly shocked as Agenete held up the sword. The mer looked over at the smith, crimson eyes fixed on the curved blade of the akaviri katana. She looked at Adrian, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments before he nodded toward the sword. Vaera reached out, gingerly taking the sword from Agnete's scarred hands. She gripped the hilt, pulling the ebony sheath off of the blade. She ran a delicate fingertip down the side of the cold steel and looked at Adrian again, the flush on her dark skin showing even in such low light.

"I thought you'd like something you could call your own rather than having to use that old shortsword I found. You've been progressing rather quickly, and soon you'll know all you need. After that it's all practice. In any case, you can consider this a commemoration of that time. I just…couldn't resist giving it a bit early." He averted his eyes the whole time, having embarrassed himself more than he'd originally anticipated. "Besides, I didn't know when we'd be back through Skingrad, and Agnete is the only blacksmith I trust." Adrian gestured to the Breton, who was working on her breakfast of vintage Surilie.

"I don't know what to say," she replied, doing her best not to smile too wide. Finally, she shrugged, not knowing what else to do. "Thank you."

The Breton sheepishly smiled, then turned toward Agnete who looked at him expectantly over her bottle.

"Oh, right." The Breton stammered, pulling a pouch from his pocket. He layed her payment on the table, plus a little extra for the quick delivery. "Pleasure doing business, as always."

She gave him an obligatory smile, bringing her bottle back up to her lips with one hand, the other quickly tucking the coins away behind her counter. "A pleasure," she replied, leaning back in her chair, bottle tucked into the crook of her arm.

With that, Adrian turned to open the door, squinting as he adjusted from the near darkness, to the orange light of morning. Vaera followed after him, hooking her sword to the belt she'd borrowed.

"Adrian," she called, trotting up behind him, "I hope you didn't spend too much on this. You…didn't have to go to the trouble."

The Breton shrugged in response, the faintest hint of a smile touching his mouth. "Think nothing of it. Besides, the gift isn't complete yet. There's one last finishing touch to put on."

"And what's that?" Vaera queried, "Or do I have to wait again?"

"You have to wait. Relax, it won't take long. I promise."

* * *

The mer followed Adrian back into his home and down into the darkness of his cellar. On the way down, he lit a few lanterns on the wall with but a touch of his glowing fingertip. "It's right in here."

He led her over to a small altar made of wood and gold, lighting the lanterns on either side. He then held out his hand. "I need your sword for a moment."

She took the blade from its scabbard and handed it over. "What's this all about?" She gestured to the altar.

"Never seen an altar of enchantment before?" he asked, putting the blade in the settings on the wooden platform. "This is one of the only altars of its kind in Cyrodiil. They're very expensive, and most who'd want to enchant anything are already in the Mages Guild, but my father decided he needed one of his own, custom made, right here at home." The Breton stood cross-armed in front of the shrine, looking fondly down at it. "Mixing magic and swordplay was his specialty. He took a lot of pride in it."

The mer stood silently as Adrian went quiet, the Breton lost in a moment of nostalgia. She allowed him that time, and then cleared her throat to remind him she was still in the room. He jumped a bit, and then moved over to a small cupboard at the corner of the room. He opened it, revealing rows of softly glimmering soul gems, sparkling beautifully and glowing with the energy they contained. From the group he took one of the larger ones and brought it back to the altar, setting it in its proper place.

"Now all we need is a little will and a little magicka. Both are things that you have to provide." He took the mer by both hands, guiding them to two large golden rings attached to either side of the altar.

"I don't understand. I've never seen this done," Vaera responded, holding the rings gingerly. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Concentrate," Adrian instructed. "Don't cast, but picture your desired spell in your mind. Envision the effect you want, let it flow into the altar with your magicka."

Vaera nodded, still rather unsure. She closed her eyes and began to focus, letting the power of her magic flow into the lustrous metal. The soul gem began to react, its glow waxing, growing brighter for a moment, then fading as Vaera released the rings. "I still don't know. I've cast hundreds of times, but…suddenly I can't picture it."

"You're nervous, but you can do it," the Breton assured her, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her easily back toward the altar. "Here, I'll help you." He placed his fingertips over the back of her hands. The mer's shoulders jittered ever so subtly at the touch. "Think of the spell you want. Envision how it looks when you cast. How it sounds. Try to connect all of your senses to the spell. Think of what it means to you when you cast. Picture the _meaning_ of whatever it is you want." He felt rather silly. It was how he'd been taught to enchant, picturing the spell in every sense until it became an idea without a name, until it needed no definition.

The soul gem began to glow brightly, bright enough that the blue light invaded their eyes whether they were open or not. Neither of them did. While magic and pure willpower flowed into the sword, a different sort of feeling rushed through the two mages. Vaera could feel power tingling at the tips of Adrian's fingers, flowing through the backs of her hands, past her warm palms and into the altar. The energy flowing through her caused shivers to dash up and down her spine and the hair on the back of her neck to rise, as though she was conducting pure electricity. She wanted him to be closer, to wrap his arms around her. She'd imagined him like this before; as she had done to any man she'd had physical or emotional attraction to, no matter how brief, but not like this. There were flashes of emotion that suddenly became a reality all their own inside her. Feelings that turned into pictures that turned into lifetimes spent with the man behind her. The sights and sounds which rushed through her head were frightening, but at the same time warm and familiar. There was passion, hot as a fever, real as anyone you could hold in your arms. Suddenly she was lost in a sea of emotion, heat building in her and all around her, threatening to set her ablaze from the inside out.

In a sudden flash of light the soul gem was gone, exiting their plain of reality with a thunderclap of collapsing energy. The Dunmer shrieked at the sound and stumbled back into the open arms of the Breton. She looked up at him, then toward the altar where a soft blue glow hung in the air for a few moments before dissipating into nothingness. She leaned on her heels, letting Adrian bear her weight.

"What happened?" she asked, hair suddenly tousled by the small explosion. The air smelled of copper, as if lightning had struck nearby.

"You enchanted your blade," Adrian replied, setting her upright. He walked over to the altar, inspecting the plate where he'd set the soul gem. Nothing remained but glassy dust. He took the sword from its settings and handed it to her. She took it and looked it over. It looked no different, but when she placed her hand on the blade it was warm to the touch, as if it had spent hours in open sunlight. "Feels like you were thinking about fire."

"Something like that. It uh…wasn't all that clear. So how do I know how powerful the enchantment was?"

Adrian smiled, raising his index finger before walking briskly around to all the lanterns he lit, snuffing them out until they stood in pitch darkness, illuminated by a soft crimson glow. Vaera held up the blade, illuminating her surprised face. It glowed, red energy flowing off the blade, rising off of it like smoke. Nearby, Adrian drew his own blade. It had a white glow, as the snow does on a moonlit night. A soft mist fell away from it and drifted toward the ground. Vaera imagined it must feel like he'd drawn it out of a snow bank. The Breton held his blade up next to hers, their energies meeting and mingling.

"See how brightly it glows?" He placed a fingertip on her blade. "You gave it a very nice enchantment. This blade should last you a very long time, as mine will last my lifetime." He took a seat on a barrel beside the cupboard. "All you need to do now is name it."

"Name it?" Vaera looked at the sword and scabbard. "How do I name it?"

"However you like. I named mine Bloodshatter because I've seen it freeze a man's flesh on contact. How you name yours is up to you."

Vaera thought for a moment, looking the sword over, then nodded. She stated the name simply and affirmatively.

"Ash Heart."


	14. Massacre

That night, Adrian served supper, with a little help from Vaera. The mer seemed surprised he could prepare a decent meal.

"Most men I've known think their job is only to drag the meat home and toss it upon the table. I've never met a man my age who knew how to do woman's work," she'd said, knowing it would prompt a sigh from Adrian. "What I mean is," she began, 'correcting' herself, "I've never met a man who didn't think himself above this type of thing."

"I know what you meant," Adrian replied quietly, thumb and forefinger pressed to his eyelids as if a headache had taken him. "What you said reminded me so much of my brother, is all." The Breton went on about cleaning the plates from his dining table.

"I thought you never saw him?" the mer queried, leaning against the adjacent wall. "You never mentioned anything else about him."

"I've not seen him in many years." The Breton ceased what he was doing, stacking the used plates to be cleaned later. "He left home when I was sixteen years old. Told our father he was off to find his fortune. Father was furious…at first. Then he agreed to let him go." He shrugged, seemingly frustrated by the memory. "He gave him the sword that was his birthright as the firstborn son, and let him go off on his own. I haven't seen him since that day. He used to occasionally send a letter, but he'd changed so much, I could tell by the way he wrote; the things about which he wrote. He wasn't the same person," Adrian didn't notice, but Vaera had drifted closer. "I was almost relieved when I realized the letters had stopped coming. My father refused to read them. He wouldn't let mother know they'd come. He feared she'd worry even more."

Adrian started a bit, noticing how close Vaera had moved. "I don't like talking about my family," he murmured, eyes drifting away from Vaera's face.

"Yet it's always so easy to get you to do it." Adrian did not look at her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice, a sound warm as the smoldering hearth.

"I don't want to talk about them anymore tonight, then," he shot back, flicking his eyes to lock with hers. "Tell me about your family, about your life. You rarely talk about yourself."

"Because there's very little to tell, but if you're so curious I'll share." Her mouth had lost its smile, but her eyes still held a look of mirth. "My father's a merchant. He used to trade in Morrowind, but moved us away when he sensed war with the Nords would become inevitable. When we lived in Cheydinhal he'd make trips back home to bring in goods, but they didn't sell very well. A lot of the Imperials there really hated Dunmer." Vaera's words gradually softened as she spoke, trepidation tingeing her words. He began to sense that perhaps he shouldn't have pressed her.

"You don't need to go on if you don't want to," he gently assured her.

Vaera shook her head. "No, it's nothing," she quickly shook her head, trying to dismiss his concern. "He moved us to the Imperial City after I ran into a _friendly_ group of locals at the wrong end of a dark alley. Good thing they were too drunk to notice the nearby guard." She forced a chuckle, trying not to let her fear show through, but not doing a very convincing job. Thank Azura a guard heard her cries for help before the men got too far. The mer rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the grip of invisible hands. "I suppose he finally realized how dangerous it could be in Cheydinhal. Not that it turned out much better in the Imperial City, huddled in our basement while a giant daedra stomped through the city," she laughed, still uneasy, her normally cheerful eyes filled with a quiet kind of fear. "I remember wondering what would happen. Thinking Dagon's foot could come crashing through our ceiling any moment and there wouldn't be a thing we could do."

"I was there that night, too," the Breton replied, hoping that his words would be somehow comforting.

"Were you? Where?" Vaera asked, looking up at Adrian, that horrible, cold anxiety lingering in her beautiful eyes.

"I waited with Serrian and the Council of Mages at the Arcane University. Serrian had given me a promotion to apprentice for what he called admirable service in the field of research. I could see Dagon from the university courtyard." He looked into Vaera's eyes, lost in them for a time as he remembered. "I don't think I've ever been so scared," he said before he even knew he was speaking. "But, you were talking about your parents?"

Vaera merely smiled. "Father's retired now, and spends most of his free time turning my mother's hair white. When I left he was on about learning to use a blade and taking up combat in the arena. When he told my mother she swore if he tried she'd kill him herself and save some young, able-bodied man the trouble of beating an old Dunmer to death." The pair laughed, a bit of the tension eased. Adrian was pleased to see a genuine smile back on Vaera's face. "He's always been a stubborn man," she went on. "I remember when mother told him she'd been teaching me illusion magic. The man threw a fit for the ages, saying I was too young, too irresponsible, and too silly of a girl to learn magic. All of that from seeing me use a light spell when his candle blew out."

"How can anyone be too young for a light spell?" Adrian scoffed, shaking his head. "A light spell was the first sort of magicka I learned. It's almost impossible for it to go wrong, unless you count my very first time." Vaera looked at him expectantly after he ceased talking, and Adrian resumed with a roll of his eyes. "The first time my father showed me how to perform a light spell, I let the magicka build too long around my hand. Instead of creating a soft glow, it exploded into a bright burst of light."

"How bright?" Vaera cocked an eyebrow. It didn't sound so bad to her.

"For a few hours afterward, my father swore up and down he'd gone blind. He hadn't, of course, but he sat in his chair, lamenting his fate for a few hours," the Breton admitted, grinning sheepishly as Vaera laughed.

"It's not as bad as my first invisibility spell," she replied, Adrian taking his turn to look expectant. "It worked for a few moments, but the minute I opened the door to step out of the house it began to fade away. Only it didn't work like it should have," she covered her smile with the tips of her fingers, "My clothes didn't reappear as quickly as the rest of me. I think my feet barely touched the ground I ran so fast. Even so, I gave the afternoon guard an eyeful."

They both fell into warm peals of laughter which seemed to last a long time. When they finally composed themselves, they leaned together against the wall.

"Were you planning to stay another day?" the mer asked, turning her head to look at Adrian.

He thought for a moment, and then shook his head, his mouth sore from smiling. "No, I think in the morning we'll move on to the Imperial City." He thought over his words, a blush covering his cheeks. "That is, I'll move on," he corrected, eyes drifting to the floor.

"Then I think I'll go with you," Vaera replied. For a moment Adrian felt quiet relief. Soft warmth pressed against him and Vaera's arms encircled his neck, her slender hands resting upon his back. Without his permission, his hands found her waist and stayed there.

"Thank you," the Dunmer said, her breath puffing against his collarbone. Adrian pondered what to say for a moment, fearing that his foot would spring up and lodge itself in his mouth if he dared open it. Eventually, he asked for what he was being thanked.

"For everything," Vaera replied, coyly succinct. She backed slowly away, one hand drifting from Adrian's back to his chest. Her delicate fingers rested there for a moment, then slipped away. The mer stepped back through the entrance to the sitting room. "Knock on my door when you're ready to leave. I'll see you in the morning." She disappeared from the entrance way; moments later Adrian heard her ascend the stairs.

"Good night," he replied weakly. He then slumped against the wall, eyes closed. He mused, wondering if Vaera took any pleasure in making him feel with no effort at all. Surely she must

* * *

The next morning Adrian awoke early and dressed. He knocked on Vaera's door as she'd requested, and she surprised him by emerging moments later fully prepared to leave. After locking the house—not that it held anything of much monetary value anymore—Adrian and Vaera retrieved Navali from the stable.

The morning was beautiful. The sun had barely peeked into the sky, casting an amber hue across the dew speckled grasslands. The air was cool, and the green of the trees upon the road was interspersed with robust shades of yellow.

Despite their pleasant surroundings, neither of them spoke much. After the previous night, Adrian didn't know what to think of Vaera. He would have felt foolish for reading too much into her gesture, though her intentions seemed obvious. It was times like these he wished he was more like his brother, who'd swept women off their feet without even trying, sometimes without even realizing. Vaera simply smiled, enjoying the Breton's silent frustration. The mer finally broke the silence, giving an air of perfect nonchalance.

"When the last time you visited the city?" she asked without turning her head.

It took Adrian a moment to process her question and answer. "The last time I was in the city? It was when Dagon appeared, the day Serrian promoted me for my assistance in closing gates near the city. At that point he was the only living member of the Council of Mages, except for Raminus. There was no one to care at the time, but when he appointed Carahil and Teekeeus to the Council, they had plenty to say." The Breton sighed, a heavy sound, the sigh of someone remembering a dilemma they had forgotten for a time. "Serrian's done a fine job of ignoring them so far. Carahil is dedicated to Traven's old way; apparently the two were quite close, and she sees my promotion as a disservice to his memory. Teekeeus is an old curmudgeon. He believes I was handed the promotion because Serrian knew my parents and sympathizes with my loss. He claims my aid in closing the gates didn't help the guild enough to warrant a promotion."

"Why is Serrian making exceptions for you?" Vaera asked, this time turning to look at Adrian. He looked somber, older than he was. The memories clearly weighed on his mind.

"Serrian needs mages who carry clout, I suppose. He needs ranks that will be taken seriously. I'm sure you've heard of the incident with Mannimarco? Even before then the guild was hobbled. When Traven banned necromancy, two members of the council quit, along with numerous other members of the guild. He assembled a new council, who later betrayed him. Serrian killed them. Then Traven sacrificed himself so Serrian wouldn't be turned into one of Mannimarco's thralls. Traven instated Serrian as the new Arch-Mage before his death. Serrian inherited dying guild. Kvatch is still in ruins, the Bruma guild was only recently rebuilt." Another sigh. Adrian's voice had grown quite tight, almost angry. He let go with that breath. "If something isn't done soon, if the guild doesn't gain some weight, I fear it will die. Imagine no mages in Cyrodiil. All the talent would likely leave for Summerset Isle or Morrowind."

"Serrian plans to stop that from happening?" Vaera inquired, head still turned to fix one crimson eye on Adrian. "I've been told recruitment for the guild has been rather lacking. How does he intend to rebuild without new members?"

"He's already relaxed some of Traven's standards, much to the chagrin of other mages. He partially overturned the ban on necromancy, and obviously he's temporarily altered the standards for promotion. He doesn't seem to be rebuilding what's been destroyed. Instead, it's like he's starting anew. I think for now he just needs people to do the footwork, which is why he wants me to get to my new position so quickly, not that it's going to matter. I won't have a guild hall or any guildmates, not until Kvatch is finished." Adrian pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, trying to ease the pain behind them. "Let's talk about something else."

"Always changing the subject," Vaera teased, her voice jovial, filled with its usual jabbing humor.

"Hush," Adrian shot back, not angry. "Any plans while we're in the city?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I figured since I was nearby I'd drop in on mother and father for dinner. I was going to invite you to join me, actually, if you were interested." When Adrian made a noise of uncertainty, Vaera insisted. "My parents would love to meet you, I'm sure." She went quiet for a moment, contemplating what she'd said. "That is, my _mother_ will love to meet you. My father…let's say he's not keen on _any _young man who decides to be near me."

Adrian nodded. "Despite your father, I suppose I'll join you. Your mother's cooking…is it good?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at the back of her head.

"Of course! How else do you think she makes my father bearable? The only way to quiet men like you two is by padding your stomachs."

"Men like me?"

"The grumpy, petulant, argumentative kind of men. You're like babies; all that makes you happy is food."

"That isn't true at all," Adrian replied, smile coming across his mouth, "I can think of at least one other thing that makes me happy."

Vaera turned toward him, eyebrow raised. "And you're planning on getting that from me? I think you might be reading too deeply into the rumors about Dunmer women. We've not even known each other two weeks."

"I don't need anything from you," Adrian replied, nudging Vaera playfully in the back. "There are plenty of women in the Imperial City."

"Of course there are," the Dunmer replied with a nod. "But they do get expensive, don't they?"

"You're not funny," Adrian replied, nudging her back again, harder this time. "Besides, I have plenty of gold."

Vaera laughed, shaking her head slowly. "In that case, make sure they're clean."

Adrian merely smiled. For a short while the two pair was silent, Adrian quietly admiring the dew specked grass on either side of the road, Vaera vigilantly watching the road ahead, idly stroking Navali's mane. It was not, however, in Vaera's nature to stay silent for long. A question burned at her tongue; she opened her mouth to release it.

"Are you still worried?" She kept her eyes on the road.

"Worried?" Adrian quirked a puzzled eyebrow at the back of her head, then let out another of those unpleasant sighs, the kind that sounded like he'd been given buckets of water to carry and a hill to climb. "I'm not sure if I should be. It does seem ridiculous anyone would want to assassinate me, it's not like I've been in the way of any guild politics these last few years. I suppose that Khajiit could have obtained that powder almost anywhere," the Breton pondered, a cold shudder running down his back at the thought."

"Probably mistaken identity," Vaera cut in, trying to be a voice of reason. "Maybe he marked you at random; an overzealous attempt at catching the Dark Brotherhood's attentions."

Adrian nodded again. "Probably," he agreed. "Still, I can't shake the idea that there's more than that."

"I think you spent too much time cooped up in your house," Vaera said, turning to show her smile. "You'll look back on this soon and realize how silly it all was." She turned her head back toward the road. "And, to be frank, I think you're scared."

"Of course I'm scared," the Breton replied, furrowing his brows. "Someone tried to _stab me to death_. Wouldn't you be a little concerned for _your_ safety?"

"Not about that," Vaera replied, turning her head again. "You're afraid of the responsibility that's been cast upon you. You're afraid of Serrian. You're afraid of…" Vaera wanted to end that sentence with 'me', but did not, thinking better of it at the last moment. "You need to stop looking for things to hide from, stop regretting. I know it's easy for me to say so, but you have to let go of your past."

A long silence followed, no angry remark from Adrian, no sounds at all from the Breton. "I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn," she said.

Adrian shook his head, though she couldn't see. "No, you're right." He turned his gaze back toward the dew speckled grass. "I wasn't always the way I am." He shook his head. "I know that sounds melodramatic, but it's true." His eyes jumped from dewdrop to dewdrop, too embarrassed even to look toward the Dunmer. "I'm getting better, though. Slowly. You being hear makes all this a lot more bearable. I want to thank you. You've been…very good company, when you haven't been trying to get my goat, that is."

Vaera smiled, her azure skin darkening with blush, but she didn't let Adrian see. "You know, you're not so terrible yourself, when you're not acting like a child who hasn't had his nap."

"We should reach the city early this evening whether we want to or not. No inns between here and there. I suggest we go to the Foaming Flask, drink enough cheap ale to ensure we'll sleep well," the Breton said, smiling as Vaera turned her head.

"That sounds like the best idea I've heard in a while, but it seems like you'd be a little hesitant to go out drinking again." She arched one of her dark eyebrows at him.

Adrian shrugged in reply. "You said I need to stop being afraid, didn't you?"

* * *

Ralis stretched as he walked, rolling the stiffness of sleep from his neck. The high sun greeted him with warmth, countering the cold air all around him. He'd taken care to wrap himself in a few furs he'd stolen from the young ladies' campsite. The Dunmer grinned, remembering the previous night's adventures, brief as they were. It hadn't taken the clannfear long to track down the Bosmer, and Ula didn't last long followed by a hunter so experienced as Ralis.

Oh the fun they'd had when he'd dragged them both back to camp. They'd begged him to let them go, to which he'd promised he would. But he couldn't, of course. They would have informed the Bruma guard about him and he certainly could not have that. No one would miss them for a while so far from home, and if anyone did go looking the ogres would take care of the bodies long before anyone could find them.

It was nearly noon when Bruma finally greeted the mer's weary eyes, a welcome smudge of grey amongst all the blinding white snow. Outside the remnants of the battle four years prior still lingered. Small lumps of glassy black stone jutted out of the snow, the remnants of shattered Oblivion gates. If one traipsed through that field long enough, they would find a smattering of swords, shields, and pieces of broken armor, remnants of an event that would have destroyed Bruma and the last of the Septims at Cloud Ruler Temple. Of course, the last Septim was destroyed, anyway, and left a gaping hole in the empire. A hole that Hlaalu Helseth and Morgiah wished to fill, not to mention all the other royalty who were sliding their rich, corpulent asses off their gaudy thrones to make a claim at the empire. Ralis didn't much care who ruled, they were all the same in one way or another, but he could feel something in his bones. Conflict was coming, perhaps even war. When the time came he'd pick a side carefully and throw himself into the fray. The hold of peace on Tamriel was slipping, and peace always gave way to revolution by one group of malcontents or another. The time it would likely be all the entitled royalty, clamoring to take their place at the top of the tower.

Ralis pushed through Bruma's front gate, greeted by the sights, sounds, and scents of Cyrodiil's north-most city. It was the sound of a smith's hammer on steel that caught his ear first, and he headed in the direction of the heavy clang.

He walked into the blacksmith's, flagging down the Nord who ran it from his busy work at the anvil. For a short time he made small talk, asking to see a few of the man's wares, idly mentioning how much he liked Bruma. The Dunmer made a point of saying that he admired Nordic hardiness and their appreciation for good food and drink. The smith retained his people's stoicism, but Ralis could tell he was charmed. The smith mentioned he offered custom swords and armor, but Ralis said he would not be in town long enough for such things. A shame too, he said, because Nordic armorers were the best in the empire, and Orcish armor was highly overrated. The smithy slammed his fist on the table, heartily agreeing.

After all was said and done, Ralis bought only a steel shortsword which he would later drop into a snow drift. The smith assured him he gave the best deals in Cyrodiil, and hoped Ralis would remember him next time he was in the mountains. Ralis assured him he would never forget this day in Bruma.

The Dunmer's next stop was the local watering hole, Olav's Tap and Tack. The place smelled of woodrot and spilled ale, and the people smelled worse. The night was young, but many of the town's men and women were already deep in their cups. Ralis eagerly joined them, chiming in on many of the drinking songs, getting looks from some of the town's rough women, and engaging in slurred, sloppy conversation with the barrel-chested men. The ale clouded his mind, steeled his resolve, and heated his blood.

He pushed his way out of the inn into the cold, dark hours of the early morning. The Dunmer walked slowly up the town's steep hill toward the snow topped buildings at the top of the rise. He swore he could feel the magicka tingling just beneath his skin, ready to burst forth, though it may have been the alcohol tingling him. Before a job like this, Ralis liked to mingle himself into the town a bit, making his presence known only well enough that the townspeople would remember a stranger had been through. By morning his work would be long complete, he would be long gone, but the people of Bruma would weep and whisper. They would speak of having scene a stranger in town, but no one would know his name. Some would remember his face, the smith surely would, but no one would be able to place him the next day. Rumors would spread throughout Cyrodiil, then through the Empire. Before then he would disappear, possibly to the deep reaches of Elsweyr where he could hide himself amongst the brigans who made the desert their home or the wilder reaches of Morrowind while the war distracted its inhabitants.

He stopped having come to stand in front of the wide wooden doors of the recently rebuilt Bruma branch of the Mages Guild. A quick look around to verify no one was out and about, and Ralis spread his arms to either side. A brief chant and he felt his limbs become heavier, warmer. When he next opened his eyes, he was dressed in a full suite of black armor, glowing with veins of molten red. He could feel the heat of his own quickened breath blowing back on him, his head encased in metal crafted to fit a spawn of Oblivion. The Dunmer placed a black clad palm on the wooden doors. Beneath the metal gauntlet he could feel the black ring given to him by his employers before he left the Imperial City, the one that promised to increase his power ten fold. He tested it.

With a roar of thunder, he blew the doors from their hinges, tumbling them into the dim main hall. In the lobby stood one mage, reading a book by candlelight, frozen with fear as he looked into the face of his murderer. Before Ralis could deal with him, a Khajiit sprang from the shadows, a spell already on his lips. With a wave of his hand Ralis engulfed him in flames, burning J'skar to ashes. He then turned his attentions back to the young Imperial behind the large desk. There would be no summoning this night. All the destruction and death would be only for Ralis to reap. And when he finished his fun, making a jolly game out of eliminating the terrified mages in the lower rooms, he wrote his given message on a wall with one burning finger. He had to read it from a scroll, as he was not well versed in Daedric, but he completed his task, slightly disappointed he had only minutes to get it all done.

When he returned to the lobby, two guards were examining the destruction. Ralis smiled behind his black helm. One guard, a middle aged Nord, turned and saw him. The yellow clad Nord charged toward him and swung his blade. Ralis grabbed it with his left hand, and with his right drew his own enchanted blade and cleaved the guard's head off his shoulders. The other guard, a younger, less experienced man, turned to run. With little more than a glance Ralis froze him to the bone, a thick sheet of ice holding him to the floor. The Dunmer stepped forward, swinging his blood slicked blade, shattering the guard's flesh and bone, pieces skittering across the floor. The Dunmer stepped out into the cold air, looking around him. The city was alive with movement, the bleary-eyed inhabitants half dressed in the streets, peering out their windows to see what horror had befallen them. Ralis raised his sword to the sky, a feral bellow escaping him. In a flash of blood colored flame he was gone, vanished on the frigid wind.


	15. Gracious Host

_Author's Note: Yes, I'm back with a pretty short chapter. Hopefully updates will come with more regularity now, since I'm planning to simply plug away at this story with very little editing. It's been sitting here forever, and I really want to finish it and be done and move on to something else pretty soon. I thank everyone who has read so far, and those who will continue reading, if any. Your support is greatly appreciated._

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* * *

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Luther Broad's Boarding House was quiet when Adrian and Vaera stumbled through the door, holding each other steady as they made their way toward the stairs. They made good time on the trip from Skingrad, and after getting their rooms settled, they made their way to The Foaming Flask, as Adrian suggested. Quite a few bottles later, they were shuffling off to their rooms for the night. At least, Adrian was trying, but Vaera held him back at the bottom of the stairs.

"I don't think I can make it all the way up there," she chuckled, losing her balance as she tried to step foot on the first stair. Adrian held her steady.

"You can! Hold on to the railing!" he replied, prompting the mer to shush, warning him not to wake everyone and get them in trouble. "If you don't want to wake everyone, quit arguing and get up the stairs!" Vaera reached out and clamped her hand over his mouth, giggling as the Breton backed away. Adrian turned and held tight to the railing, pulling himself step by step up the stairs. "Come on," he urged, smiling back at her.

"Carry me," she demanded, leaning on the railing behind him. "Adrian, carry me," she lilted, getting shushed herself. When Adrian reached the top of the stairs, he reached down and helped Vaera haul herself to the top. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to keep from falling down. "Oh, thank you!" she said, letting go, but was suddenly swept off her feet.

"Want to be carried, do you?" Adrian tromped down the hallway with the mer in both arms. Vaera locked her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he set her down at her door.

"My hero," she said and put her back against the door so she wouldn't fall over. "Come in for a moment, there's something I want to give you." She unlocked the door, tossing her key on the table as they stepped inside. The mer pulled the ebony sticks from her hair, letting it spill down her neck.

Adrian watched from behind, closing her door as he stepped in. "What are you going to give me? Maybe pay me back for all the drinks I bought you?" he joked, watching as Vaera turned around and walked toward him. She simply shook her head. "Then what?" he said.

"This." She placed her hands on his shoulders, lifting herself up until their lips met. She felt strong arms wrap about her waist, hands on her lower back. Her own arms drifted further up, her fingertips running through the waving locks of his hair, her lips desperately holding on to his. She held him there for a few wonderful moments, but she knew he'd back away, and her mouth gave chase as he pulled back. When his lips were gone her lips fell to his neck and shoulder.

"Vaera, you're drunk." He had started to come to his senses. She couldn't have that.

"So are you," she replied, speaking up to him. "So, we have that in common. Another thing we have in common is we both want this," she stated, refusing to unlock her arms as he tried to back away. "We have no reason to fight it."

"Vaera," he said, unable to help smiling at the situation. She looked at him expectantly, arching her eyebrows over those beautiful crimson eyes. To Adrian they were like two coals smoldering in the hearth. There was no way he could resist. "Is this your way of admitting I was right?"

"Right about what?" she said, confused.

"About Dunmer girls being promiscuous," he replied with a smile, cheeks reddened by more than strong drink alone.

She rolled her eyes, grinning as she grasped his wrist and tugged him toward the bed. "Shut up and come over here," she commanded, falling back on the comforter. Then he was atop her, and they were again locked in a kiss.

* * *

The foul scents of sweat and waste greeted Tarafel's nose as she pushed her way through Bravil's front gate. To most visitors, the stench was almost unbearable, and many well dressed out-of-towners scampered about with a handkerchief clamped over his or her nose the whole time. But to the Bosmer, the smell was familiar, even comfortable, but not pleasant. Bravil, with its filthy water and drunkard residents, was never pleasant.

She made her way through town, sticking to the darkest shadows to avoid being seen by anyone lurking nearby. It was the dead of night, but desire for alcohol and skooma never slept. She never stopped moving, skirting through the shadows around the statue of the lucky old lady. The sight always reminded her of Ungolim, the former Listener for the Dark Brotherhood. When she was a trusted member, she would often be present while he spoke with the Night Mother there. She stopped for a moment, gazing at the statue from the shadows. Decades ago, she had felt whole in that place, like she belonged. But crouched in the shadows, boots smeared with dark mud, thinking back on those days was like looking in a shattered mirror. There was no nostalgia, only a sense of loss. Not of her position in the Brotherhood, but of herself. When she began her career as an assassin, she felt a sense of purpose. Killing was her purpose, murder was her niche. In time, that sensation faded, and now the sound of an arrow piercing flesh and bone was mundane. And that was why she had traveled to Bravil.

She continued on, passing lightly over the rickety bridge that crossed the river. The smell rising up from the foul waters was almost enough to make her stomach turn. She started breathing again when she reached the other side, and began making her way toward a rickety two story building. She climbed the splintering ladder to the upper story, being as light of foot as she could. Her back and shoulders screamed with every movement.

The homes in Bravil were rickety to begin with, and as they got older, they began to fall apart. When she reached the top, she rapped twice on the door, knuckle scraping against the discolored wood. Inside, she could hear a soft shuffling as someone came toward the door, the wood creaking ever louder as he got closer.

"Who is it?" called a soft voice coming from a mouth pressed closed to the corner of the doorframe.

Tarafel pressed her mouth to the doorframe and answered softly "An old friend." He'd know her by the sound of her voice. She heard a heavy bolt slide back and the door opened, revealing the dark single room home. "Come in," he said, stepping back. Tarafel stepped in, able to hear her host shuffling further back into the darkness. Suddenly the room was illuminated, a red tongue of flame lashing out to the wick of a candle. His face became visible, worn like old leather and lined with deep ravines of age. There was a gnarled scar that curved like a river from the corner of his mouth and disappeared behind his pointed ear. "So nice to see you again, Tarafel," he said, sitting down and gesturing she should do the same. "It's been nearly a decade since you last darkened my door. I'd begun to think you had met your end."

Tarafel took her seat, cringing as her battered body settled into the chair. Her Host drew a vial from the folds of his robe and set it in front of her. She opened the bottle and drank its contents, ignoring the bitter flavor and the harsh burning sensation it caused in her chest. Soon the pain in her body ebbed away, her sore muscles warming and relaxing as the tincture coursed through her veins.

"It's made with skooma," he said, taking the bottle back with his gnarled hands. "Boiled in a retort, then mixed with dried lavender and ground ogre teeth," he said, a smile gracing his pitted face. "Tastes like rat piss, but the best are always the hardest to drink." He watched Tarafel, her eyes half lidded as his treatment hit her. "I can't imagine you stopped in for a potion. What brings you to me after so very long?"

The Bosmer's eyes flicked open again. She sat up, her movements more easy now. "I find myself at an impasse," she said, her neck producing a series of cracks as she rolled it back and forth. Of course, her Host knew that. "Killing no longer satisfies me. Lately, it has been doing the opposite. Every life I take seems to take life from me." She clasped her hands, her knuckles blanching with frustration. Her lips were as white, pursed tightly together. "I feel myself drifting out of place. No matter how good the kill, it doesn't fulfill me anymore." She glanced up at her Host, her eyes hard and narrowed, filled with the closest thing to fear she had ever known.

The Host stared back at her, his eyes equally intense. After a long silence, his face softened. Sitting back, he took a delicate purple bottle from his robe and unstopped it. "You could turn to the bottle," he said, raising the vial before drinking it down. He closed his eyes, reveling in the moment while the skooma went to work. He shook his head. "In all seriousness, Tarafel, you've always been an odd case," he said, eyes already beginning to glaze. "You feel nothing, so nothing can make you happy. No lust, no greed, no envy, you want for nothing. You simply wish to occupy your time, find your niche in the world and live it out." The old altmer held up his bottle, turning it slowly in his yellow stained fingers. "Our conditions are not so different. We seek something to fill us. But with each passing day we need more and more. The difference is, that I will never run out of skooma," he said, pushing himself up from his seat. "You, however, would eventually run out of people to kill." He smiled. "As elves, we live long, and most of our kind feels no need to hurry through our lives, as other races do." He turned back the dingy sheets on his bed and sat down. "So, your solution is simple. If killing no longer pleases you, do the opposite," he said, pushing his feet under the thin blanket. "Find someone to heal." A strange smile came to his face, his eyes glistening as the drug took its effect.

"I don't understand," she uttered, perplexed by his solution. She covered her mouth, eyes widening in surprise at her own actions. She had never questioned her Host's advice. She looked up at him, expecting a scowl, but his face still held its constant placidity. The old elf sighed, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Tarafel," he said, but did not continue for some time. Tarafel thought he might have fallen asleep, but at last, he opened his mouth again. "You aren't out of place. What you are experiencing is boredom. Your life, remarkable though it has been, has become routine to you after all these years. You take a contract, you prepare, you track, you kill, and you deliver the finger or ear of the mark, and collect your reward. It is all you know, all you have know for almost thirty years. Many men retire after so many years at one job, but you are not even in your middle age by the standards of our people. Your lack of emotion doesn't bring you feelings of love or joy or loss. While most find their passion, you simply bide your time, and eventually you outgrow your niche." He reached out and took the Bosmer's hands between his own, lifting them off the table. "You are more than a killer, Tarafel. I taught you everything I know about making potions, watched you exceed me. You are a master assassin, possibly the greatest in all Tamriel. You have reached the mountaintop and have nowhere left to go…but there are other mountains, and alchemy is a much taller peak. It can take even our kind half a lifetime to perfect the craft." He released Tarafel's hands and leaned back in his seat, folding his gnarled fingers in his lap. "I have no more advice for you, my dear. At this point, your life is in your own hands. You may follow my advice or find your own path. Either way, I wish you good fortune," he said, now struggling to keep his eyes open. "Goodbye, Tarafel."

Her Host quickly drifted off to sleep in his chair, chin on his chest and snoring lightly. Tarafel silently saw her way out, his words running through her head as she made her way out of the dark, filthy city. She saw no other recourse. For months she had been lost, and she could think of nothing else. She briefly considered returning to the Imperial City to finish the contract with Ralis, but quickly perished the thought. He could have the money; she wanted only to be rid of her outgrown existence. She would stay in Cyrodiil a while yet. There were many places she could live and collect ingredients. Wandering adventurers and city chapels would pay well for the quality of potion she could create. Yes, it would work well until she had the means to uproot and move elsewhere, perhaps to Morrowind or Skyrim where war was brewing. She felt the hands of fate were penning a new chapter in history, and she wished to see it played out. Until then, she would bide her time, as always.


End file.
